Betrayal's End
by TrinityWildcat
Summary: Less than a week before Christmas, Bobby Goren, Alex Eames and Sienna Tovitz find themselves recalled to London. Hidden agendas surround them; will they be able to survive and protect those they care for, or will the past destroy the future?
1. Leaving New York: Becoming A Habit

**Disclaimer**: I do not owe the rights to the situations or characters of "Law and Order: Criminal Intent", and acknowledge the legal rights of those who do. I will make no profit from this story.

**Author's Note**:

Yup, this is the long-delayed second part to "Loyalty and Betrayal", written for this year's NaNoWriMo challenge. I really enjoyed writing it once I got over my performance anxiety. I wanted to find out what happened to Bobby, Sienna and Alex as much as everyone else.

One warning: I'm not kidding with the rating and warnings, though I will post a warning for chapters that are a bit stronger than those I've written in the past.

Also, I'm writing another fic in parallel with this, "What Happened At Glastonbury". It's my first work to feature only my own original characters: Sienna, Jack, Tanya and Drew. The chapters are being posted occasionally at the bottom of chapters of this fic, as they tie in with the events in "Betrayal's End". It's not essential that you read them together if "Glastonbury" is not your thing and you just want to read "Betrayal's End", but it does fill in a lot of the background (including what REALLY happened between Sienna and a certain British agent...).

As ever, if you are able to let me know what you think of the fic / fics by review, I would really appreciate it. Thanks, and buckle your seatbelts now!

***

"Uh, excuse me? Excuse me?"

Startled, I turned in my seat to face the man sat next to me on the plane. His eyes widened, and I realised I was glaring.

"I need to… put my…"

"Of course." I smiled as sweetly as I could manage, which at this moment in time, wasn't very. I sidled past the snoring guy beside me and stood in the aisle. My fellow traveller stumbled into the aisle, quickly stowed his coat in the overhead locket, then sat back down again quickly. I followed suit.

He nervously smiled at me. "Uh… thanks."

I forced myself to reply appropriately, even though what I really wanted to say was _Shut up, I'm trying to think_. "You're welcome. I'm sorry if I seemed a little… distracted."

"Uh, no problem. We all get days like that, right?"

_Well, let's see now. "We all" are not Sienna Tovitz. _I_ am Sienna Tovitz. I am thirty years old, I work for Interpol, and I have a psychotic ex-boyfriend who two days ago escaped from prison back in Britain, where I used to live. I am on a flight from New York back to Britain, supposedly so that the security services there can question me about my involvement in the attempt to foil a terrorist attack on a football stadium there this summer. In reality, probably so that they can dangle me out there as bait in the hope that said psychotic ex-boyfriend will come out of hiding so that he can even the score with me for my helping to put him in prison. _

_Oh, and my current boyfriend, Bobby Goren, at least I _hope_ he's my current boyfriend, is also coming over. Which would make me happy, since he's a gold-shield detective with the NYPD Major Case Squad, and so is his partner, Alex Eames, who's also coming over. _

_Except that yesterday, just before I had to catch this flight, he and I had an almighty row about the fact that whilst we were separated, I slept with someone he absolutely hates. Who also lives in Britain. And who we're almost certainly going to meet in the next few days, since about the one person John Durham – that's the psycho ex, keep up – hates more than me, is Drew Davenport, who actually put him in prison, and whom I slept with _once, _that's _once, _well, once in the sense of "on one day"… and whom Bobby loathes with a vengeance. _

_And it's nearly Christmas, and instead of spending time with my beloved Bobby and my family, I'm contemplating the small but very real chance that myself, himself, and our friends might all be dead in the next few days. _

_So, no. "We all" do not have days like this. _

I smiled, though it probably looked more like I was baring my teeth. "Yes. I suppose we do."

"Well, you know what…"

I cut him off. "Listen. I don't mean to be rude, but right now I'm not very good company and I would prefer not to talk. Thank you."

"Uh… okay." He smiled nervously. As he turned away to fumble in his briefcase, he looked at me warily out of the corners of his eyes.

The hell with it, I didn't care. Let him think me a crazy psycho bitch. Right now I had every right to be angry.

In fact, I was not just angry. I was _furious_. Had I been British, I would have been _bloody_ furious, which was just as well, because the alternative was being scared shitless.

_Actually_, I thought, _I'm both_.

I was angry, I was scared, and I was all on my own.

I closed my eyes briefly; it didn't help. When I opened them again, it was still as if I was the only real person on the plane, and everything, everyone else, was just a backdrop, just extras in the scene I was playing. The fact that it was an insanely happy flight didn't help. Christmas was only a few days away, All around me were people heading for home, leaving behind the US to rejoin their families on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.

_I should be doing that too._

The thought was like a physical pain. If the world were the right way up, then I should be happy, too. I should be looking forward to seeing my friends again. I had missed Jack and Tanya so much, and the thought that I was going to travel 5000 miles, all the way to their home, their country, and not see them, was too bitter even to contemplate.

_That's the way it has to be. Tanya would tell you that herself, if you asked her._

But I couldn't ask her. Right now, it was dangerous to be anywhere near me, and the thought of anyone harming Jack, Tanya or their unborn baby was too horrible to contemplate; I was almost more afraid for them than I was for myself.

_That anyone might harm them_… _You mean John. You mean that John might try to harm either Jack or Tanya, to get to you_.

I shivered all over at the thought, a horrible, skin-crawling feeling creeping over me, as, once again, the image of a handsome face forced itself into my consciousness.

There had been a time, only too briefly, when I had kissed that face. Kissed it, and done more. I shuddered again in revulsion. No-one, apart from my therapist (whom I was thinking of changing, if, _when_, I got back to New York) knew just how much I hated that. Normally, if you have a relationship with someone who turns out not to be who you thought they were, you can ditch them and move on, and the memories fade.

John, however, had been so much worse than I'd ever imagined. A senior police officer in the London Metropolitan Police, he'd been corrupt. On the payroll of one of the Eastern European mafias, supplying them with information and putting his fellow police officers' lives at risk. I was stuck with the miserable knowledge that for six months I – Sienna Tovitz, dedicated Interpol officer – had been sleeping with that man. That my judgement had been that bad… well, I hadn't been judging at all. I'd been looking for anything, anyone, to numb the pain of breaking up with the love of my life, and what better way to do it than by trying to fuck it out of my system by throwing myself headfirst into a relationship with someone I barely knew?

_And whose fault was that?_

Another face floated before me, and I winced in pain. This pain was deep, sickeningly so. _Why did you do that to me, Drew?_ I thought silently, as Drew's face came to the forefront of my thoughts.

Bobby, Drew, John… All brilliant. All clever, all determined, _and all with that streak of bastard in them that you like so much, Sienna_, a little voice in my head muttered.

I couldn't deny it. What did it say about me, that the three men I'd been involved with in the last four years all had that same characteristic, that urge to use their intelligence to dominate others? How many times had I seen Bobby, or Drew, or John, size up a person within a few minutes, and then ruthlessly take them apart with a few well-chosen words? They even had similar professions; Bobby and John, senior detectives; Drew, a intelligence officer with MI5, Britain's domestic security agency, and if there was one thing that marked out people in that line of work from the rest of us, it was that on one level, they didn't consider themselves to be _part_ of the rest of us.

They were set-aside, special, the defenders of law and order… _right up to the point where John decided that he wanted some of the money and the lifestyle that the gang leaders he saw breaking the law every day and getting away with it had, and sold out his own side, his own people, to get it. He must have gone into work every day, looked at the people around him who trusted him, and laughed himself half to death on the inside, to think that he was cleverer than them. _

_But Bobby is different_, I thought miserably. For the past few months, I had been able to take some comfort in that. Bobby was the only one of the three I had truly loved, and he was, by far, the better man. When he and I had parted, I had felt as though part of me had gone missing. When we had reunited, it had been like the sun coming back into my life. Finally, back in New York City with the man I loved, I had begun to feel happy again.

Until things changed. Until a horrible case at work and the revelation that Alex Eames, his partner and the only woman who understood him better than I did, had once secretly asked to be assigned a new partner, had caused him to sink into the black moods that sometimes afflicted him. It made him remote from all of us who loved him and I had tried so hard to get close, but in the end, only Bobby could break that wall down.

And then the two of us had had a screaming row. It had started stupidly with one of those slightly drunken disagreements over one of us wanting sex (him) and the other not wanting it (me – I was tired and had had two large glasses of wine), and degenerated into a row in which, furious at having to be the one always considering the other one's feeling, I'd flung the one hurtful fact I'd been trying to conceal from him for months at his head.

Just looking back, I winced. I could still hear my own words: _How could I sleep with Drew? The usual way, since you ask. _And then, even worse, in response to Bobby's nasty remark that he was surprised Drew had even managed to get it up, since he usually preferred men, _Three times in one night, as it happens, and that's more than you're capable of right at this moment_.

_Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit_, I thought miserably. I tried to look on the positive side. Bobby had come to find me at the airport, this time. He had hugged me and kissed me and said that he trusted me, and I sincerely hoped that things would be different…

_But what if they aren't? What if he arrives in London having spent the hours since you said goodbye brooding on what you did? You need him right now, Sienna, and you might just have pushed him away for good with those manipulative last words of yours… _

I shuddered to think of the consequences if I didn't have Bobby beside me, and another memory came into my head.

John and I, this time. John and I in the airport I was about to fly into, which was a thought I could do without, but the memory would not be denied. It had been a weekend. The two of us had rarely spent a weekend together. John's position as a senior detective and my new job at Interpol's London headquarters meant that free time was a rarity for both of us, with free time that coincided with the other's free time even rarer still. Our relationship had been largely conducted in the darkness of the city's evenings. Meals at some restaurant or other, a fashionable bar here or there, energetic sex at my apartment or his, followed usually by one of us leaving the other asleep to hurry off to some early-morning meeting or other.

That weekend, however, I had wanted to get out of the city, just for a little while. Surprisingly, John had agreed with me that it would be pleasant to get out of the city, even just a little way, and walk in some green fields. We had headed west out of the city and walked around for a little while, eaten at a pub, and had been heading back home when I had suddenly remembered that I needed to buy a gift for Tanya's birthday. Since we were near Heathrow Airport, it made sense to park there so that I could browse the shops and choose something.

After I'd bought a silk scarf with a vaguely Oriental-looking pattern that I hoped she would like, I looked for John and found him standing by one of the huge windows looking out onto the runways, watching as the planes lifted and lowered in the darkening sky beyond the glass.

I had smiled at him. "Wishing you were on one of those planes?"

He chuckled. "Not really. I like it here, Sienna. I like London. I have a good thing going here." He paused, and tipped his head on one side, appraising me. "What about you, now? How long have you been here?"

He knew the answer, but I supplied it anyway, to make conversation. "About… hmm. Four months now."

"Four months." He turned away and stared out of the window. "So, do you wish you were on one of those planes? Going back to New York, maybe?"

I clenched my teeth. John had an unerring instinct for uncovering truths that you wanted kept secret. A useful talent in a police officer; and a personality trait I was increasingly beginning to think was something you did not want in a boyfriend. "No. There's nothing left for me there."

"Well, yes. It wouldn't be much fun if you went back there and found that _he'd_ replaced _you_, too, now, would it?"

I stared at him, open-mouthed. I couldn't deny the truth, but…

"I'm not stupid, Sienna," he said, very softly. Our eyes met, and locked. I shivered slightly, not from arousal, and thought briefly, _No, John. No, you have not replaced Bobby,_ just before he lent in and kissed me, possessively, and I responded from instinct. We said no more, but left the airport, drove back to his apartment, and had sex for an hour before I left to get a cab back to my apartment to get ready for the following morning's work.

Two weeks later, Drew Davenport shattered my world to broken pieces with a few words and some photographs of John in the company of several notorious Russian gangsters that Interpol, the Metropolitan Police and MI5 had all been trying to put away for years. Of course, I agreed to pretend to John that I was still his girlfriend, even though the thought of what he'd done made me physically sick. It was the only way I could salvage some of my self-respect from the situation, and it cost me a bullet wound and several long months of therapy, both mental and physical.

Why had I been attracted to John? I'd wondered that a lot in the two years since that had happened, and I supposed it was partly because I'd always sensed that he was keeping some part of himself hidden… and I responded the way women often respond to men who hold something of themselves back, becoming fascinated by him, wanting to be the only one who got to know the real man on the inside.

_That, and he looked like Bobby, except that he was younger and fitter, and you wanted to fuck,_ I thought viciously. How could I have acted like that?

_Because you were manipulated. You trusted Drew, and he betrayed you._

That thought hurt, too. It hurt so much, and I would have given anything to be able to discuss my thoughts with Bobby, share what I was going through. Except that he didn't want to hear about it…

Except that he had tried, once. Once, before everything went to pieces in the aftermath of the Harold Garrett trial, when he and I had gone to one of our favourite bars, to relax and listen to music and enjoy a quiet drink in each other's company. We'd snuggled together on one of the battered comfortable sofas there, and I'd leant in against Bobby's large, comfortable shoulder, feeling his huge hand gently stroking my hip. I'd looked up into that broad, handsome face, those dark sleepy eyes I loved so much, so wise, and so caring, because although Bobby had a ruthless streak in him, he, unlike Drew or John, was wise enough to know it, and a good enough person to have chosen to use it to serve others.

Bobby's ruthless side came out only when he needed it to. The rest of the time, he could be amazingly gentle and a wonderful listener. He could also be a workaholic who forgot to wash the dishes and left his socks on the floor after he ran out in a hurry, having just had an sudden inspiration about a case he and Alex were working. Sometimes, he could be a typical American male who liked to drink beer and eat pastrami on rye and fix cars with his friend Lewis, then watch the football game at a bar afterwards. He was, in short, simply a man, with his own unique good traits, bad traits, and quirks, and I loved him immensely.

He'd smiled at me, and murmured "Sienna?"

"Yes?"

"I just…" He paused, thought for words, and began again. "Sienna, I just wanted to say… I know a lot happened to you whilst we were apart and maybe… Maybe I haven't been very good at listening. I just wanted to say … if you want to talk to me about it…"

I'd looked at him then, really looked at him, my eyes flickering past the stubble on his chin and his messy salt-and-pepper curls, and looking deep into his dark eyes, and I'd felt my heart contract with love. It was a feeling so elemental I was powerless to resist it. I'd had relationships before, but Bobby… Bobby was the one. The man I loved, and at that moment, I'd nearly done something crazy and proposed.

I had nearly said, _Bobby, I love you and you love me. We understand each other, we're in the same line of work and we share the same values. We have great sex and the age difference doesn't matter, it doesn't mean anything except that sometimes you get admiring looks from other men wondering how you managed to bed the attractive young redhead. I can talk to you and you never think anything I say is dumb, and I always think everything you say is fascinating. Let's stop wasting our time and agree to spend the rest of our lives together, and we'll buy a large apartment together, and maybe in the fullness of time we'll need to buy a bigger place because we'll have little Gorens, and Alex will be Aunt Alex and spend Sunday afternoons in the park with us teaching the kids to play soccer and softball and throwing Frisbees, and we'll grow old together, and neither of us will ever, ever, have to feel alone again._

But I hadn't. Not because I feared Bobby's reaction, but because at the back of my mind, I didn't want to marry Bobby knowing that, sooner or later, John Durham would be released from prison. I couldn't give myself to him knowing that that lay in our future.

So I'd smiled, and said "Bobby, thank you so much for saying that. But right now I want to just spend time with you… I want to forget all the bad stuff and just enjoy being with you."

And he'd smiled and held me closer, and I'd nearly cried.

Later that night, back in my own apartment, I'd been unable to sleep for the thoughts racing through my head, one thought coming to dominate them all, _Drew Davenport, you utter bastard, this is all your fault._

So I'd called him. Called him knowing perfectly well that England was five hours ahead of New York and that he would be asleep. He'd screwed up my life, the least he could do was to wake up and listen to me.

And Drew had answered, his voice surprisingly clear, and urgent. "SiSi, is everything all right?"

"No, Drew. No, everything is not alright."

"Huh?" His voice changed. "Why are you ringing me?"

"Because I want some answers. I want an apology."

He sighed heavily and for a few seconds I thought that he'd cut the call off, but then he replied: "Look, please can we not do this now. It's five in the morning, and I need to sleep."

"Did I wake Mike? Is that it?"

He sighed again, and spoke in slow, measured tones. "No, you didn't wake Mike. You didn't wake him because he's not here."

"Then you can fucking talk to me."

"And say what? What is it you want me to say that's so bloody urgent it can't wait til a better time?"

"A better time? You fucked up my life, Drew! You let me fall for someone you knew was corrupt, and you used me to put him in prison, and you never once told me the truth. You used me as bait."

"Yes. I did." He sighed. "Look, SiSi… You want me to apologise. You want me to apologise, and to say I wish I hadn't done it, and I can't, okay? I can't say that because I'd be lying. I did what I had to do to put a corrupt bastard in prison. Durham was putting people's lives at risk, and he betrayed everything he was supposed to protect. I was told to stop him, and I did. I'm sorry you got hurt, but I can't say I wish I hadn't done it, because that's not true. End of story."

"Not end of story! You used me, you bastard. You manipulated me into leaving Bobby. You waited til I was vulnerable and you used that. You used me." I thought of what had happened, or rather not happened, tonight, and nearly started crying. "You're a complete bastard, Drew, you know that? Everything that's gone to shit in my life, is that way because of you!"

Silence from the end of the phone. Then Drew's voice, angry at me for the first time ever.

"Okay, Sienna, so your life didn't work out perfectly? You want to put all your troubles with Goren on me?" He snorted derisively. "Fine, I don't care. I'm a bastard, and you knew that, you've always known that. Put it all on me if you like, Sienna, but here's the truth: you practically bit my hand off when I mentioned that job. You couldn't have applied for it faster, and when you met Durham, you couldn't get your pants off quickly enough. Face the facts; if you'd really wanted to stay in New York, I couldn't have stopped you. You chose to apply for that job and leave him, Sienna, and that's on you, not on me."

He cut the call before I could reply. I put the phone down, carefully, and then grabbed the glass I'd been drinking from and flung it at the wall, screaming incoherently, then started sobbing.

Just the memory of it made me want to start crying again, but I forced myself not to. Forced myself to hold on to the rage I'd felt. How _dared_ Drew speak to me like that! I'd been his friend, his closest friend, and he'd betrayed me – how dare he turn his anger on me?

_Because everyone who know him thinks he's a bastard. His boss encourages it and Tanya and Jack expect it of him because they've known him such a long time. You were the one person who liked him and thought he could be a better man. Now that that's gone, why should he treat you any differently to the rest?_

Fuck that. Fuck that. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to think logically. If Drew and I were still on good terms, he would be the logical person to go to for help. He and I were in the same boat; we'd both been responsible for putting John behind bars, and John undoubtedly hated us both.

But… dear God, no. I could not even begin to contemplate what I'd feel like if I went to Drew for help and he used me for bait to catch John again. _And let's face it, that's why they've called you back._

Even worse… I knew Drew was right. It was why his words had hurt so much. I'd chosen to leave Bobby and go to London of my own free will. Bobby had forgiven me for that, but I still hadn't forgiven myself, and I would_ never_ forgive myself if, through my own stupidity in trusting Drew, harm came to Bobby. I had no doubt at all that John wouldn't stop at hurting him to get to me.

So, what did logic suggest?

I took a deep breath and shivered. I felt faintly ill at what I was contemplating doing.

What did it say about me, that the three men I'd been involved with were so similar in some ways? Was I attracted to them because (horrible thought) part of _me_ was like that?

Or was I just a coward? Too afraid to risk my own life, so I was willing to risk someone else's, someone I'd once called a friend?

_If you do this, Sienna, you're as bad as Drew,_ I thought blackly.

_No, I'm not. No, I am not as bad as Drew. I'm not doing this because I want to earn plaudits at work, or because I can't think of a better way to catch a criminal. _

_I'm doing this because I want myself, and Bobby, and Alex, and Tanya and Jack, and their baby, to live. _

I ran over what I was going to say in my head, the arguments I was going to put to MI5. I might not be as devious as they were – that I'd never once suspected Drew had betrayed me demonstrated that only too well – but I could give any of them a run for their money in terms of stubbornness.

I needed to sleep, so I took a deep breath and visualised a box, a solid pine box, in my head. I pictured the box lid opening, and mentally placed all my worries inside it, then firmly closed and locked the box. My thoughts could keep in there for a while.

My last thought before I passed into sleep was one that should have gone in the box too…

…_and besides, he really deserves a taste of his own medicine. _

***

Interlude: "What Happened At Glastonbury"

Chapter 1: Tattoos, Wine and Beer

_London, England. _

_June 2004. _

_House of Tanya and Jack Simmons-McAllister._

"So, what do you think - dragons or lions?"

I contemplated the designs Tanya was holding up thoughtfully. It was the day before we were due to catch the train to the Glastonbury Festival, where I'd agreed to join her, her husband Jack, our mutual friend (sort of) Drew Davenport, plus two others from the martial arts club she ran in her spare time, in help to run a bar to raise funds for a local women's shelter.

The deal was that the six of us would work for six hours behind the bar on each day of the festival, and the charity would get paid for our labour. What we got out of it, other than the warm glow of helping a good cause, was free festival entry, free camping, free showers, free beer, free food, and time off to see the bands and drink. This was considered by all to be a good deal.

"Hmm…. well… dragons are a bit of a cliché."

Having booked the leave from work, packed the camping gear, and stocked up on Wellington boots and sunscreen, Tanya and I were just getting around to the important things, such as deciding which tattoo Tanya wanted to wear for the festival. She did in fact have several permanent ink tattoos, but these were mostly on her back and concealed by her clothing, since in her day job as a police self-defence instructor she had to at least try to _look_ respectable.

This meant that on pretty much any occasion where she would be away from work for long enough, Tanya would design and paint on herself a really spectacular henna tattoo, somewhere that would be visible to everyone. The first time I'd met her at the club's training rooms, she'd just returned from Japan, and I'd spent most of my time in the changing room afterwards - when I wasn't rubbing my bruises - trying not to gape at the six-foot-two, 170-pound-plus woman with a Chinese dragon undulating up each calf, and two spectacular dragons fighting painted onto her belly, with the tail of one going all the way up to her neck, wrapping around it so that the point of the tail ended up on her cheek.

"Yep, I agree. Lions it is." Tanya nodded decisively, and began to flip through the book of designs. She drew them herself, and I was always amazed by the delicacy of the lines. (Amazed since this was also the same woman who could, and did, throw men outweighing her by fifty pounds over her shoulder with ease. )

I peered over her shoulder. "I like that one," I said, pointing to an image with a rather Egyptian look to it, an armoured woman with a lion's head.

"Sekhmet, goddess of the noontime sun?" Tanya grinned. "One of my favourites, too, that's why I have her permanently on my back, but she's a vengeful warrior goddess, and that doesn't really fit with the whole Glastonbury thing."

"Peace and love, man?" I made the peace sign, we chuckled and swigged some more wine. Both of us had finished work that day, and were decidedly On Vacation (or in Tanya's case, On Holiday).

I had spent the day ignoring the jibes of some of my more staid colleagues at Interpol, who kept making cracks about hippies and swimming in mud, and was greatly looking forward to spending some time with my friends, away from the same old grind of crime, human misery, difficult cases and office politics. I liked my job, but it was exhausting.

I admit, I wasn't completely sold on the whole Glastonbury Festival thing myself, not yet, but I needed a break from work and Jack had practically forced me into agreeing to come. He himself had been bouncing around like Tigger since we'd had our places confirmed, and was currently downstairs fussing over whether we had everything packed.

I hadn't seen Drew much lately - he'd been in Moscow for the past week, working with the police force over there - but his emails for the past week or so had talked about little else. Then again, Drew often gave the impression that part of him was eternally seventeen, so it probably wasn't surprising he was looking forward to the festival too.

Well, if nothing else, the opportunity to sit in a field and slurp free beer should not be passed up. It had been far too long - over three years, in fact - since I'd cheerfully cast off my business suit and usual responsibilities and hit the open road. I'd travelled a lot when I was younger, but since I'd decided to change career and move from translating for Interpol into management, I'd just never managed to find the time.

And now, my tent, clothes and the rest of the gear I'd need for four days' camping in a field was packed into my newly-purchased backpack, which was downstairs resting by Tanya and Jack's front door, all ready for us to set off in the morning to go get the workers' coach to the festival. My outfit was laid out ready for the morning, my own apartment was locked up with everything turned off, I was ready to go. Ready to leave real life behind for a few days…

"Ooh, I like that." I pointed to the design next to it, which showed a sinuous lioness stepping down from a rock, with the beast's head and forelegs in the foreground of the picture and an expression of elegant disdain on its beautiful face.

"Mmm yes… I'm having this one," Tanya decided, and selected one from over the page, labelled 'Lioness Rampant'. She sat up and picked up the stencil, applicator brush and henna paste. "Where do you want yours?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I'll do you. You should have one too. That one will suit you just nicely."

"We're back at work in five days' time; I don't want anything visible." I objected.

"Hmm." She cast a critical eye over my body; I was sprawled on my front on her bed. "Roll over." I obliged. She traced a finger thoughtfully up my belly and pursued her lips, looking at the design. "Yes, it will fit nicely there. You can have it visible if you want, and cover it up with a shirt whilst it fades."

"Where are you having yours?"

"My left shoulder and arm, if you don't mind helping out. Now get your kit off."

We partially stripped, Tanya shedding the top half of her clothes, me shedding the bottom half of mine. Since both of us had seen the other naked in the changing rooms more often than I could remember, this wasn't a big deal. She flopped forward onto her belly, exposing the broad muscled expanse of her back, pitted here and there with the scars and bumps of a lifetime spent fighting.

As ever, her skin was lightly tanned. Tanya's skin was always pale gold, a legacy from her father, along with her height and build. (Or so we assumed; that her father had been black was the one thing she did know about him. Since her last attempt to find anything out from her mother had met with the response: "Look, I wish I'd never shagged him, alright?", she'd pretty much given up.) I applied the stencil and began to paint, carefully.

Ten minutes later, I'd done painting her back, and she and I had very carefully manoeuvred ourselves, trying to avoid dislodging the paste from Tanya's back, into a position where she could paint me. She was halfway through painting the tail, and I was trying not to giggle, because the brush was tickling like mad.

"Stop moving. If you move it'll go all messy, then we'll have to wash it off and start again."

"I'm not sure I want it there anyway."

"Well, it's a bit late to be saying that now. What's wrong with there, anyway? They won't be able to see much more than the tail unless you wear hipsters or something. Men like that, it gets 'em thinking."

"What's wrong with there is that I'm going to be plagued with guys asking if they can see my…"

Suddenly, the door flew open, followed by six feet of lanky blond British secret agent, clad in jeans and T-shirt and looking like he hadn't slept in days, which was normal. I jumped, knocking the henna pot across the bedding.

"Drew, for fuck's sake, LEARN TO KNOCK!" Tanya yelled, more out of habit than anything else, since she was grinning hugely, whilst at the same time trying to help me mop up the henna.

"Why?" Drew grinned. His eyes were sparkling, an expression I'd come to know and be slightly apprehensive about.

"Because I could be in here shagging Jack. This is my bedroom, you know."

"Jack's downstairs fannying around with the backpacks and repacking stuff. Are we ready?" Drew paused and took in the scene, grinning widely at the sight of the two of us, half-naked, drunk, and covered in sticky black paste. "Hey, have the two of you been up to something?" He favoured me with a lecherous wink. I grinned back and shoved a wineglass in his direction.

"Well, if we had, it wouldn't be anything that would interest _you_," I pointed out. Drew's sexual appetite was healthy, to the point of voracious, but limited strictly to his own sex.

"This is true." He nodded and perched on the end of the bed, watching with interest as Tanya finished painting on the henna. Normally I would object to having a man I wasn't actually sleeping with see me in nothing but my bra, but since Drew wasn't interested in women (and I'd had two glasses of wine already), I didn't much care.

"You know, it's kind of rude to stare," I remarked.

Drew shrugged, then smiled evilly at me over the rim of the wineglass. "Hey, I've seen it all before…"

I gave him my best Evil Glare of Doom, which left Drew unfazed, as eleven years of having Tanya glower at him on a regular basis had left him immune. "You said you weren't looking."

"I wasn't looking at _you_, but you were kind of in my field of vision at the time. People who go around shagging other people in store cupboards shouldn't go standing on their dignity… Are we going down the pub?"

"Shouldn't you be packing or something?"

"I am packed. I'm always packed. Are we off down the pub?"

"Okay, yeah. In a few minutes." Tanya packed up the tattoo kit, then went hunting for a towel.

"Need to get the henna off, huh?"

"No, Drew, we were thinking we'd carry on the lesbian experimentation part of the evening somewhere you're not."

"Fair enough… hi, Jack. You finished?"

Wandering in through the door, Jack waved hello, politely averted his gaze from my nearly-naked form, and pulled a mournful face at the sight of the empty bottle. "No, I just heard the words 'lesbian experimentation' and thought it sounded like more fun than packing tents."

"We're off down the pub."

"Nearly as good."

***

We'd intended to only go for a quick one at the Red Lion. Just one for the road to celebrate the start of the holiday, the start of the Festival. Whilst Tanya and I got the henna off ourselves, Drew disappeared downstairs to help Jack pack up the tents. From what I could tell, this had mainly involved the two of them shoving things into backpacks any old how, but it didn't really matter, since we'd only have to carry things from the coach to the camping village away. It couldn't be that far, I told myself as I lifted my first beer and toasted my three friends. It was tasty beer, and somehow it went down a lot more quickly than I'd intended it to. I must have been more thirsty than I thought.

"I shouldn't mix my drinks," I told Drew sincerely, as he put the second beer down in front of me.

"Well, in that case, you must stick to beer for the rest of the evening," he replied, and nodded sagely whilst downing half of his in one swallow.

The second beer went down nicely as well. And the third. And possibly the fourth, although things got hazy at that point.

The next thing I knew, I was wandering happily back down the street in the warm evening moonlight from the Red Lion back to Tanya and Jack's house, with my arm round Tanya's waist and her arm around my shoulders, whilst behind us Jack and Drew had their arms slung round each other's shoulders, and had apparently decided to treat the entire street to an _a cappella_ rendition of "Me and My Shadow". It actually wasn't that bad; both of them could sing quite well. Neither Tanya or I, however, could, as she put it, "carry a tune in a bucket", so we were content to let the boys enjoy themselves.

"_Me, and my shadow…"_

"…_strolling down the a-ven-ue…"_

Tanya and I got the giggles for no particular reason, and held on to each other more tightly. "Where am I sleeping again?" I asked her.

"On the sofa at this rate, sweetheart," Tanya giggled, a sweeter sound than you'd normally hear from her. "So long as you don't end up wrapped round the toilet like last time."

"I was _not_ wrapped around the toilet…"

"_Not a soul can bust this team in two, we stick together like glue…"_

"…I was just looking for my earring."

"Yeah, for half an hour." Tanya giggled again.

"Oh yeah? What about that time Drew and I and found you and Jack asleep on the sofa stark naked?"

"It's my damn sofa and my damn husband."

"Yeah, well, he's not my husband, and I don't need to see that first thing in the morning on an empty stomach."

"Don't be mean about my beloved," Tanya playfully nudged me in the ribs with her elbow, and nearly knocked the wind out of my lungs. "Jack's a fine specimen of man."

Behind us, the mentioned one carolled at the top of his lungs, _"You'd need a large crowbar, to pry us apart_…" We giggled again for no reason.

"Ah, Tanni," I murmured sentimentally, and hugged her one-armed. "I'm so glad I met you guys."

"Yeah? Well, we're really glad you met _us_, SiSi. I mean it," Tanya said, and smiled. "Drew says you're like the catalyst. You bring all of us together and make us work better."

I wasn't sure that was what a catalyst actually did, but I was absurdly touched to hear it. That Drew had said something like that made me feel good, feel like something good had come out of the last horrible year. I fought the urge to rub my leg and instead glanced back at the boys. Jack was looking happily around him at the street in the moonlight with the interested gaze of the more than slightly drunk, but Drew was looking at us.

He caught my eye, and smiled, and I felt a warm rush of happiness inside me. My three friends were around me, and I was going to spend the next four days just enjoying myself. What more could I ask?


	2. Trying to Communicate

_London, England_

_December 2005_

_One day after the end of "Loyalty and Betrayal". _

***

It was bitterly cold, but the cold felt wrong.

That was his first impression of London proper, as he stepped out of the cab and into a dank, darkening, London night. He turned up his collar, pulled his woollen ski cap on, stuck his hands in his pockets, and began to follow the instructions Sienna had emailed to him last night, which he had had to log on at the last minute to collect before frantically dashing to the airport to make his flight.

Sienna had been so insistent on his ensuring he had them that he had felt obliged to pick them up before leaving, but as he struggled to negotiate the maze of streets with the aid of the printed instructions and an A-Z of London hastily purchased at the airport, he resisted the urge to call her and ask her why the hell she couldn't just meet him somewhere public, why this ridiculous insistence on secrecy. He did not even know much about where it was going, just that it was: "A safe place. Somewhere we can talk in private".

_She's spent far too much time with spies, they all think the world is listening in on them, just a bunch of egotists_, he thought sourly, then forced himself to stop that line of thought. Whatever he thought of how Sienna was handling this, the fact remained that, for now, he needed to trust her judgement for both personal and professional reasons, or he could kiss goodbye to any hopes he had of reconciliation with her.

_Not to mention what she said to me before she left…_ He was torn between hoping that Sienna hadn't been being melodramatic and manipulative when she had said that to him, and hoping that she _had_ been. The alternative – that she was telling the unexaggerated truth – had been preying on his mind all the way across the Atlantic, and he was only too aware that, somewhere at the back of his mind, was a terrible fear that he was already too late.

_Don't think that. Focus on the immediate situation, and deal with things as they occur._

He had tried to call her on her cellphone, and it had rung and gone to voicemail. He hoped that meant she was too busy… With a wrench, he refocused his mind on his surroundings, but that brought little comfort. It was not, he thought gloomily as he trudged along, particularly cold, not by New York standards, but somehow the cold felt different, danker and greyer compared to the sharp blue light of New York's winter. The air scented different, alien, and the signs in the shops were unfamiliar. The people trudging past on the streets were, like himself, clad in dark winter coats and woollen hats and gloves, but their accents were unfamiliar, the rhythms of their speech jarring slightly to his ears (now chilling rapidly, like the rest of him).

_Get your ass in gear, Bobby_, he thought to himself astringently, as he navigated the maze of backstreets, trying hard not to wonder if Sienna had made a mistake with the directions, as he turned down yet another seeming dead-end of the faceless backs of office and apartment blocks, only to discover at the end of it that there was another alley, just off it to the side. _It's all in your head_.

And it was, he knew only too well. If he and Sienna were here on a pleasure trip, London would seem fascinating and charming as it headed towards Christmas, the shops sparkling with light and warmth, determined shoppers thronging the streets in search of presents, the city trimmed out to celebrate the season in its winter hues of red and gold, endless music playing everywhere. As it was, everything about the city simply reminded him that this was not his home, and he was here against his will.

_I wish Eames were here_, he thought unhappily. Despite the best efforts of everyone involved, he and Eames had not been able to get tickets on the same flight from New York to London. She was travelling on the later flight, and would arrive the next day. He sighed deeply. He would never admit it, but the depth of his relationship with her sometimes worried him.

It was not that he was incapable of operating without her, he mused, as he punched the key-code Sienna had supplied him with into the number pad beside the door of a decrepit-looking block of apartments, and gratefully stepped indoors and out of the wind. It was just that over the years, the two of them had become accustomed to each other, to the point where they now worked best when they were together. _And when we're apart?_ he thought gloomily, beginning to climb the stairs inside. (Sienna's instructions read, rather ominously, "Don't trust the elevators".) _Now, of all times, Eames ought to be here_.

He paused at the top of the stairs, took a breath, and tried to tell himself that it was just the stairs causing the breathlessness, just the stairs… but he knew it wasn't. This was not a good situation, and he was only too aware that he no longer had any idea where he was. Although his sense of direction was by no means poor – he could have retraced his steps back to the main street – he had lost track of where he was in relation to where the cab had dropped him off, and, by extension, of where he was in relation to other human beings. The buildings around him were eerily, ominously, quiet.

And he had not heard from Sienna in some time… _Stop panicking, Bobby, and get your ass in gear_, he thought, and determinedly attacked the stairs again, doing his best to ignore his feelings. Nevertheless, Sienna's words played in his head, over and over. Three sentences which he had gone over and over in his mind, trying to fathom all the possible implications.

_They say they want us back to ask questions about the stadium, Bobby, but I think that's just a cover._

And then the most frightening one,_ John Durham has escaped from prison, and he's going to come after me_.

And then the most disturbing one, _I'm going to need you to_…

…his thoughts were interrupted by the end of the short corridor at the top of the staircase at what appeared to be a blank white wall. He stared at it for a few seconds, and re-read the instructions, then put out his hand and pushed. It swung inwards, to reveal a solid-looking door with no handle.

He raised his hand, tried not to feel ridiculous, and knocked three times, paused, then two times, then a longer pause, then one.

The silence that followed after stretched to an ominous length. He wondered if he should knock again, or would that confuse her? Just as he was beginning to decide that he should try to call her, trying hard not to think about what it would mean if that door did not open and Sienna was not safe on the other side, there was a loud rattle from the door.

From the sounds coming from inside, it sounded as though the designers of Fort Knox could have learnt a few lessons from whoever had installed the security on the door. After what seemed ages of rattling and sliding, the door, finally, swung open, and he drew a deep breath – now was the moment of truth – then exhaled with relief at the unmistakeable sight of Sienna on the other side.

"Oh, thank God," were her first words, followed by her swiftly grabbing his hand and yanking him indoors. She pushed the door shut, instantly, and turned her back on him, fiddling with the locks and bolts to secure it. As he waited, he took the time to scan the interior of the room.

He was in what looked like a small apartment, except that it was tiny, barely larger than his kitchen back home. There were no windows… yet, he realised, it was at least partly lit by natural light. He glanced up, and saw that there were small glass panels at the very top of two of the walls. Picturing the building in his head, he realised that they must face the stairwell – yet he had not seen the glass panels himself as he climbed. Perhaps he would notice them when he and Sienna departed, but he could as easily have never noticed at all that the room was here.

A bolthole, then. A refuge for someone who needed somewhere to hide where no-one would look. It was painted white and looked almost sterile, chilly even, except that it was not noticeably cold, almost warm compared to the damp coldness outside. The furniture was basic – a bed, left unmade with the covers thrown back, in one corner, a small desk, a dining table and two chairs – and had the soulless look of having been ordered from a catalogue. He began to wander around it, curious. Something about the place, despite – or perhaps because of – its sparsity suggested that the previous occupant had been male?

Looking closely, he saw that the previous occupant had made some attempts at decoration, after all. There were signs that posters had been hastily removed from the walls. A scrap of one of them still clung to the wall. He inspected it closely, and could just make out, in the corner, the words "…n Day 2005". His memory made the link, filling in the missing letters, and, with a sense of irritated inevitability, he realised whose apartment it must be, or at least whom the previous occupant had most likely been.

He turned to find Sienna looking at him with an unreadable expression, and it struck him with a jolt that she seemed to be wearing that face more and more recently. He had always been able to read her like a book, her emotions and thoughts near to the surface (_too_ near, sometimes). Now, there were times when he had no idea at all what was going on inside her head.

Part of him wanted to hold out his arms to her, to embrace her warmly after their brief separation… but he held back, unsure of how Sienna would react to that. She was dressed severely in a black suit and boots, a white shirt underneath, and no jewellery or colour to brighten things up. _She might almost be about to attend a funeral_, he thought, and shivered slightly. His warm, friendly Sienna was a long way away.

"Where's Alex?"

"She... uh… they couldn't find two seats on the same flight, she's arriving later," he replied awkwardly.

"Bobby," she said, then paused, then suddenly smiled warmly. "It's so good to see you again."

"You… you too." He paused, and his words trailed off. He cocked his head on one side without realising what he was doing.

She drew a deep breath. "Well. This isn't exactly easy, is it?"

"No."

"So, let's get started." She closed her eyes briefly, then opened then with a certain determination. "Okay, then. Do you want to talk about our professional problems first, or our personal problems?"

"It's interesting that you… you mention the two as if they're equally important," he replied.

Sienna frowned, and for a heartstopping second he thought he had said entirely the wrong thing. She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Well, let's see. On the one hand, I have a quite possibly psychopathic ex-boyfriend with links to a major criminal organisation on the loose, who has made several threats to kill me. On the other hand, I have moved all the way away from somewhere I finally found to call home, away from my friends, to be with someone who I love, and we've had a major row, and I feel as though nothing I say or do is ever enough…"

She broke off, and looked at him almost apologetically, frowned tiredly, then completed her sentence. "One is a threat to my life, the other is a threat to my happiness… and I love you, Bobby. I do love you. In here, we're safe for a little while. Talk to me, because I need to know if the two of us can work together, and I don't think that I can do that if we're continually trying to ignore an elephant in the room."

"You want us to be completely honest."

"Yes. I really do."

"Would you… would you go first?"

Sienna sighed heavily, and suddenly looked very tired. For the first time ever, he saw the ghosts of lines upon her face.

"Okay, well…" She paused, then suddenly frowned, screwing up her face. "You know what, Bobby? I feel like I'm always going first. I made the first move on you way back when we first got together, I made the arrangements to move to New York to be with you, not once, but _twice_. That is not easy, Bobby, it's really not easy to move jobs with such short notice, and I had to call in every favour I was owed and then some to do that and it cost me a lot, both times…"

He wanted to interject, but she was on a roll…

"…I tell you I love you, I tell you that if you ask me to marry you, I'll say yes, I tell you that if you want children with me but you're worried about passing on your mom's illness, we could look at having children using a donor, _whatever_, I would do that because I love you and I want to be with you… "

She looked at him with an expression of hopelessness that chilled him. "Really, Bobby, what else can I do? Tell me! What more can I possibly do to reassure you? I do all this, and you get hung up on some stupid fixation about who I slept with whilst I was in London; did I ask you, even _once_, who you were screwing whilst we were apart? Sometimes I think you _want_ this relationship to fail, so that you can stay on your own!"

They stared at each other for a minute. Sienna's eyes were angry and hurt. He could only wonder what his looked like. For the first time in a long time, he was completely lost for words; though he could think of a great many things to say, he could not think of anything that wouldn't make things worse.


	3. Turnaround

**Chapter 3 – "Turnaround"**

Eventually, he had to speak. "Sienna… let's talk about our professional problems."

Her head snapped up, angry, but he raised a hand, and she quieted, looking at him with an expression of mixed anger and thought.

"Sienna… I don't know what to say, okay? I really don't. I just don't. I don't know what to say to… all that… that won't make things worse. So let's talk about Durham."

Sienna sighed tiredly, her anger deflating. "Jesus… now _I_ don't know what to say."

"Start with what happened; I hardly know anything."

"Okay. John is – was – eligible for parole, probation they call it over here – as you know, he only got a one-year sentence, since they couldn't get any of the more serious charges to stick. As part of that, he was being transferred to a facility in the north of England, I think mainly so that they'd have a headstarthead start on getting him into witness protection before the Russian mobsters he was working for caught up with him. On the way there, the security van they were travelling in was rammed from behind with a truck and forced off the road. By the time the police got there, they found the correctional officers in the van knocked out and John was long gone. No body, no traces, nothing. He's on the loose and no-one knows where."

"I guess the police over here are looking for him?"

Sienna snorted. "Hell yes. I think half the British police force areforce is looking for him, plus MI5; they're really not happy about this…"

"…and that's why we're here." As he completed the sentence, Sienna's eyes met his, and he knew beyond a doubt that, however briefly, they were sharing the same thought.

She slowly nodded. "Yes, that's what I think."

He shook his head, feeling tired; perhaps the jet lag was catching up with him. "Sienna… don't misunderstand me, I'm not criticising your judgement, but isn't it a little – I don't know, far-fetched? to think that MI5 would call you all the way back over here just to use you as bait?"

"To use me as bait _again_. I'm not letting that happen again, Bobby, I swear to God I'm not."

He wished he could hold her and reassure her, taking away her fear, but feared she would take it the wrong way, and so stayed where he was.

"Anyway, yes, I really think that they would. They have the perfect cover; the three of us – you, I and Alex – were going to be called over here anyway to help with the investigation into the stadium attacks. Five could easily ask the investigating team to move the timetable forward a little so that we'd be back over here, and then they have the perfect cover for what they want; me to use as bait to draw John out, you and Alex so that they can say that it was all part of a perfectly legitimate investigation."

"What is it about Durham that makes Five so interested in him?"

Sienna smiled humourlessly. "Well, Bobby, he was a rising star in the Metropolitan police. He knew a very great deal about their operations – particularly, their joint operations with MI5 to gather intelligence on the Russian and Eastern European mafias. That information is only a year old, and it takes a very long time to infiltrate criminal gangs successfully. With John in solitary in prison, they'll have left their agents within those gangs in place. Pulling them out would be a massive loss in terms of intelligence gathering, they'll have sunk a huge amount of time and effort into those operations. Now that John is on the loose…" She broke off, looking faintly nauseous.

He shared her feelings; the thought of what would happen to the people involved if their secret identities were revealed to the people they had been trying to infiltrate did not bear thinking about. "Now that he's on the loose, that information is worth a lot."

"It's gold dust, Bobby. It's more than worth them having me called back over here to use as bait."

"And you don't want that to happen again."

"No… oh, _God_." She shuddered all over and looked at him with anguished. "I know, I'm a coward. I should let them do it, Bobby, I know it's for the greater good, but I can't face it."

"You see, this is why I have problems with Davenport."

The sudden change of subject threw her, and she stared at him dully. "Huh?"

"Sienna… maybe now isn't the time, but I have to say this. This is why I don't want to talk about him. Hell, it's why I hate him! He got you shot! He, and MI5, they fucked up that operation from soup to nuts, and you expect me to just… put that on one side, pretend we're all friends!"

"I don't want you to pretend to be Drew's friend, Bobby!" He blinked at the force of her anger. "_I'm_ not Drew's friend right now, I hate him for what he did to me! I hate the bastard!" She took a deep breath. "But, let's face it, he's going to want John recaptured as much as you or I, probably more so, and he's useful, so let's all put our feelings on one side." She smiled tightly.

"I don't know if I can do that." In response to her glare, he sighed deeply. "Sienna… how would _you_ feel if I'd been shot on duty?"

From her surprised expression, it was obvious she had never thought of it that way. He felt the age difference between them rear its ugly head. She sighed herself, and looked older.

"I'd hate the person who caused it. Okay." Her face tightened again, and she unconsciously rubbed her left leg.

He made a superhuman effort to stay calm and keep his voice as neutral as possible. "So… what does Davenport think about this? Have you had any contact with him at all?"

Sienna smiled a rather devious little smile, but her tone was calm. "No, I haven't been able to make contact with him since I heard about John. He's alive, I know that, but I can't reach him." Unnervingly, her smile remained.

"How do you know he's alive?"

She winced slightly and explained: "Because he and I both left instructions with MI5 and with Interpol that, in the event of our deaths, the other was to be informed immediately; he has a similar arrangement with Jack and Tanya. I've been checking my cellphonecell phone every hour… no messages."

_Which could of course mean that he could be dead and Five haven't discovered it yet_… He decided instantly not to voice that opinion. If Davenport was dead – _if Durham had caught up with him_ – Five would discover it soon enough and tell Sienna, and it would help no-one if Sienna was worrying fruitlessly about her… _friend_, he forced himself to think, rather than _ex-lover_.

He could think of several courses of action, none of them ideal, but all of them better than sitting around like fish in a barrel. The most obvious one was simply to leave London as soon as possible. There would be hell to pay in terms of relations between the NYPD and the Metropolitan Police, not to mention the repercussions for his career, but he could care less about that if it meant ensuring Sienna's life wasn't at risk. _Except it wouldn't just be my career… Eames's too. Damn, this is complicated_.

He glanced across, and realised that something about Sienna's demeanour suggested she had something she was waiting to say, and then, suddenly, the possible meaning of the worrying phrase she had muttered into his ear just before she left to catch her flight to England began to become clear. He met her gaze, and asked: "Sienna… do you have a plan? Is that why you wanted to meet with me like this?"

A smile broke across Sienna's face. A small, professional smile, but it was a vast improvement. "As it happens, Bobby, yes, I do."

He tried his hardest to keep his tone neutral. "Is this to do with… what you asked me in the airport?"

She smiled again, a very wry expression. "Yup. I've been busy since I got here, Bobby, putting things into place… or trying to." She yawned, trying to stifle it and not succeeding. "Jeez… sorry, I'm a little punchy from the jet lag. Anyway, today I had a very interesting meeting…"

***

_London, England. _

_December 2005_

_Thames House: MI5 headquarters_

_Office of Anne Langford, Operations Chief, MI5 Serious and Organised Crime Unit_

I strolled forwards into the office, trying not to wish that Bobby and Alex were beside me, and doing my best to look nonchalant. Not an easy task, since the woman sat in front of me was in no small part responsible for the large scar across my leg.

Anne Langford, MI5's Head of the Serious and Organised Crime department and Drew Davenport's boss – the Captain Deakins of his office, as it were – looked up from a mound of paperwork on her ostentatious desk, and regarded me with a polite and professional smile. I returned it with the same degree of sincerity. If it had been Drew who came up with the idea to use me as bait for John Durham, it had been Langford who had signed off on the idea and made it happen.

"Ms Tovitz, do sit down." She gestured at a chair across from her desk.

I remained standing, and extended a hand. "Ms Langford, so glad you could fit me into your busy schedule." I hoped the irony in my words wasn't too obvious. Both of us knew that top of Langford's schedule for today was seeing me. I wondered if Langford yet suspected that I knew the real reason why.

"Given the severity of the situation, I could hardly not do so." She smiled, and again gestured to the chair. I decided my point had been made, and sat, smiling politely.

"Indeed. May I make a suggestion?"

"By all means." Langford smiled toothily.

I returned the smile, but only with my mouth. My eyes fixed on her. "May I suggest we cut out the bullshit and get straight to the heart of the matter?"

Langford's smile vanished. Her eyes went cold and I felt a certain amount of fear. Still, I continued: "John Durham has escaped from prison. You need to recapture him as soon as possible. Therefore, you requested that I be sent for under the pretence that myself, Detective Goren, and Detective Eames and I are required to assist with the ongoing investigation. After all, since I worked so well as bait the first time…"

"It's no pretence," Langford interrupted. She was smiling, the amused smile of a spider watching an insect just realising it was caught in a web. "You really _are_ needed to verify some of their information…"

"In person, just before Christmas, when we could as easily do this over a secure videolinkvideo link?" I demurred. "Fool me once, Ms Langford, shame on you, fool me twice…" I smiled, and paused for effect. "I _am_ interested by the notion that you seem to be convinced that John will come after me, as opposed to simply vanishing underground. I imagine half of London's finest are out searching for him at this moment."

Langford snorted. "Don't be aan idiot, Tovitz. Do you think that I don't know what he said about you? What he's been saying about you ever since?"

I forced myself to remain calm. "Yes, I do know. So., Wwe both agree, John's after me, and one way or the other, he wants me to suffer. Making me the perfect bait for you to dangle out in front of him."

Langford shrugged her heavy shoulders. "Well, since you seem to be aware of what we intend, you may as well know _why_ we consider this a matter of extreme urgency. John Durham, as you presumably know better than anyone else-"" she smiled nastily, my scar itched and I felt a sudden and hastily-stifled urge to slap her, hard "-is a very resourceful and dangerous man. Not only that, the information he carries in his head about our operations jeopardises years of careful investigate work into the Russian mafia and other criminal gangs, to say nothing of the lives of the people involved. If he sells that to the highest bidder, I dread to think of the consequences."

"Indeed. I'm entirely familiar with the lengths to which you will go to catch him." I returned the nasty smile. "However, I'm a little curious as to why you wanted _me_…"

Langford raised an eyebrow – was I that stupid? "Well, you are the ideal bait."

"On the contrary." I smiled as though putting down the winning hand. "I _would_ be the ideal bait, were I still the rather naïve young woman I was when you sent Drew to bring me over here as bait for John the first time. I imagine you saw me coming over here all keen and eager to please, happy to cooperate, and if I just _happened_ to leave the heavily-guarded environs of MI5 to go travel on my own to visit my pregnant friend in her home-"" I saw from Langford's face that this was not too far off the mark "-yes. Yes, something like that. You and I both know now that's not going to happen a second time."

"Even though not recapturing Durham means putting the lives of many of our intelligence officers at risk?" Langford said softly.

_Time to play hardball_. I fortified myself with the knowledge that if my plan worked, everyone would be safe anyway. "As you say. They are _your_ intelligence officers, not mine."

"Interpol uses the intelligence we gather, too." Langford pointed out.

"And I'm aware of that, which is why I have a suggestion to make, Ms Langford. One which I hope will resolve this messy situation to everyone's satisfaction."

"Indeed?" Langford smiled a wintry smile. "I almost feel I should apologise for underestimating you." She smiled again, and I was struck, not for the first time, by how similar her facial expressions were to Drew's.

_Indeed you should, Ms Langford_, I thought with a smile. "I am rather curious about one thing."

Langford regarded me with a quizzical expression. I smiled as though putting down the winning hand. "Why you bothered to call _me_ back… when you already have the perfect bait already here working for you?"

Langford did not take even a second to grasp my meaning. Her eyebrows actually rose and she drew out her words heavily, pausing between each one. "You want me to use one of my officers as bait?"

"Oh, not just any officer, Ms Langford. I'm thinking of the one who happens to be the only person John Durham hates more than me."

6


	4. Reconnect

_London, England_

_December 2005_

_Bobby and Sienna._

He stared at her for several minutes, trying to decide how to react to what Sienna had just revealed . "That's your plan? Use Davenport as bait?"

Sienna nodded briefly. He stared some more. It took some effort to strike Bobby Goren dumb, but this… He would never have imagined Sienna would come up with something like this.

"This is why I need you, Bobby. I need you to tell me if I'm right. See, the way I see it is, I'm certain John's going to come after both of us, me _and_ Drew. If anything, I think Drew's his real target. Me…" She frowned with distaste and a little regret. "Me, he won't care too much about."

"Sienna… you betrayed him, to his way of thinking." He was guessing, a little, without knowing more about Durham's background, but male criminal psychology tended to change very little between individuals. "It's an affront to his sense of himself, his sense of his own… manhood… that you, his girlfriend, his…"

"Possession?" Sienna suggested, then winced at his expression in reply. "Yes, I know, I should have had better sense, but John could be very, very charming and good company; it took me half a year before I started to even think that maybe I didn't know the man behind the smile too well... and I was grieving, Bobby, and I didn't want to stop and think, I just wanted to keep busy, and being with John helped with that." She paused, then added: "I missed you so much, I didn't want to have even a minute on my own, in case I started thinking about you and crying."

He looked away from her for a second, overwhelmed. He had felt the same way; to hear Sienna say it out loud was both heartbreaking and strangely reassuring. He forced himself to continue, resisting the urge to draw Sienna into his arms and stroke her gently until she relaxed completely, the two of them almost melding into one…

"Well, that's pretty much what I'm getting at," Sienna replied, breaking his train of thought. "I don't think John sees me as a person, Bobby, much less a rival. He'll want to get even with me, but it's Drew he's going to really want to get revenge on."

"What makes you say that?" He agreed, but wanted to test out how her mind was working. He had never worked directly with Sienna like this before.

She shrugged. "You said it yourself, Bobby; he doesn't think much of me because I'm a woman, and if he wants to get even with me, it's because letting me get away with putting him behind bars diminishes his sense of himself as a man. That goes double for Drew, doesn't it?"

He cocked his head on one side. "Huh?"

"Drew's a man, a man in a similar profession to John, which makes him a rival in a way that I'm not… but he's a gay man, Bobby. For John to be beaten at his own game by Drew… that's got to be _really_ eating at him, at his… sense of manhood. He'll want to beat Drew, to prove that he's the stronger man."

"Yes… I'd agree, but you're forgetting something." He almost hated to say this, wanting to protect Sienna, but knew that that was not what she wanted.

She cocked her head on one side. "Hmm?"

"The two of you are eyewitnesses to him being in that club, proving an association between him and the Barayev branch of the Russian mafia. If new evidence comes to light, he could be tried for crimes relating to that association… but without your testimony…"

She completed the sentence: "…They'd have a much smaller chance of success." She shivered, and he wondered if the fact that her life was in serious danger was only just beginning to really sink in… or if she'd been managing to ignore it, and he'd just reminded her.

"Sienna… I really think the best thing to do would be to leave. Leave London, let the police here catch him."

"And what if they never do?"

He had no immediate answer. She pressed the point. "What if they never do, Bobby? John always had money from somewhere, I'm certain he still has some stashed away, and he has connections to the Barayev gang. He could travel anywhere in the world, Bobby, and you and I aren't exactly low-profile. I don't… I do _not_ want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder in case John's waiting there, or panicking every time you're called out in the middle of the night in case it's a set-up and John's waiting for you… listen to me, he's _already_ fucking with my head, and I want it over with. I want John back behind bars so that all of us can get on with our lives. Me, you, Alex, Drew, Tanya, Jack, and the baby."

They looked at each other for several long seconds. Eventually, he nodded.

"So, how is this going to work?"

"Five's original plan was to just dangle the bait out, and see if John bites. They were planning to let me be seen in public a few times, make sure that the Barayev gang knew that I was back in town, let a routine develop where I'd be in the same place at the same time for a few days, so that John knows where to find me… but keep me under surveillance the whole time."

She shook her head. "I told them no. I'm not… I'm not a coward, Bobby, at least I hope I'm not, but I have no faith in them at all. They've proven already that as far as they're concerned, I'm completely expendable, and I don't trust them to protect me."

_Oh, shit_.

He looked at Sienna, really looked at her, and realised suddenly that he'd been blind for the past few months, and with that came an almighty surge of guilt, that he had been so wrapped up in his own problems, that he had been oblivious to the turmoil she had been going through. _She's been afraid. So very afraid. So very afraid, to be pushed to this…_ And yet the connection between them was still strong, else how else could he sense so clearly what she was about to say?

She took a deep breath. "They're desperate to catch Durham. So I told them, if I'm going to help them, I want insurance. I want Drew involved in this too." Her voice was soft. "The best idea we could come up with is this. You and I and Alex, we play along. We pretend like we're just here to help with helping piece together what happened this summer, we walk in and out of offices and hotel rooms in a nice regular routine, and MI5 keep an eye out for John. As soon as they pick up that he's in the area, I call Drew and put on the performance of my life to persuade him that I'm really sorry, I want the two of us to be friends… We arrange to meet up and hope that John takes the bait and comes after us."

She smiled bitterly. "I'm expendable to Five, Bobby, but Drew isn't, he's the longest-serving officer in his department and one of their best field agents. They'll watch _him_ like a hawk. They catch John, he goes away for life, we all live happily ever after."

"And how is Durham going to know to catch you?"

"Because he's out there, Bobby, looking for me." Sienna shivered, and he could almost see her heart rate jump. _Jesus, what did this guy do to her?_ "He's not going to rest until he finds me. He knows that Drew, Jack and Tanya are my closest friends, he'll undoubtedly still have contacts in the police that we didn't manage to track down. He'll know I'm back in town, Bobby. It's either use Drew as bait, or Jack and Tanya."

"Sienna…" He shook his head, unable to think of the right words.

"What? Bobby, what?"

"Why… why are you so sure that Durham wants to kill you?" He held up a hand quickly. "I'm asking because it's obvious that this isn't something you thought rationally about and decided. You're sure of this, so sure that you have an emotional reaction every time someone even mentions his name. You're terrified. Why?"

"Because, Bobby," she said very quietly, "I've seen some of the transcripts from what John said when they tried to interrogate him. There was no usable information – he never told us anything about the organisations he was working for. Do you want to know what he did say? Here's the sentence I remember most clearly, there are others… "Tell that red-headed bitch the only reason I pushed her out of the way of that bullet was so I could put one in her myself." That's why I'm terrified, Bobby!"

She looked straight up and into his eyes. He had always loved Sienna's green eyes, so open and expressive, and in that moment he felt the connection between them open fully again. He hadn't realised until that moment how much he'd missed it.

"That's why you said …in the airport…"

"Yes, that's right." Her voice was barely a whisper. "I don't even know if I have the right to ask that of you anymore, Bobby…"

"Sienna!" Almost involuntarily, he jumped to his feet and crossed the room swiftly. "How can you say that!" He leaned in, grasping her upper arms, stooping slightly to bring himself to her height. Her eyes were wide, her breath fast.

"How can you possibly say that?"

"Because…" She was uncharacteristically inarticulate. "Because… of everything…"

"Sienna… Fuck it." Her eyebrows shot up at that word from him; he almost never swore in her presence. He shook his head. "Fuck it. I've… we've… we've screwed this up, haven't we?"

"Yes." Her voice was low, almost ashamed. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?"

"I'm sorry I left."

"I'm sorry you left. I'm sorry you left, I'm sorry if I drove you away… I'm sorry I'm not who you want me to be."

"You are. Bobby, you are! You are always who I want you to be, I want you to be _you_, my Bobby!"

"Then how could you doubt for one minute, even one minute, that if you said that you needed me to save your life, I wouldn't do it?" He was almost shouting, still holding her tightly.

"Because." She smiled suddenly, fiercely, and his passionate Sienna was there in his arms like a flash of sunlight. "Because, sometimes, Bobby, I can be very stupid."

"So can I…" He didn't end his sentence with words, but reached down to her mouth hungrily with his, mumbling "the hell with it" very faintly before Sienna's mouth opened underneath his and her tongue shoved hard into his mouth. They pushed hard against each other, mouths open and hungry. He was still holding her arms, and he half- pushed her onto the bed behind them, half found himself being pulled onto it as her hands grasped his shoulders.

As they crashed down onto it, he realised that the bed scented odd, strange, male, the scent of another man lingering on the sheets beneath Sienna. Odd, and weirdly arousing, as he kissed his way hungrily down Sienna's neck and found her breasts, that Davenport's scent was on the sheets below her, being drowned under the warm, strong, living, scents of Sienna's body and his own.

Sienna groaned wildly, thrusting her hips hard against him, her hands pulling hard at his body, trying to pull him into her already, before she let go of his hips and grabbed for his belt and fly, opening them fiercely, then doing the same to her own. He groaned with relief, feeling himself being released from the pants and boxers that were suddenly far too tight, realising that he was nearly fully hard already, and Sienna's scent told him that she was as aroused as he was, if not more so.

He propped himself briefly on one arm, then undid the buttons of her shirt roughly with his free hand so that he could find the bare skin of her breasts and suck hard. The new position caused him to grind his hips hard into hers, and she groaned once, then forced herself to stop, murmuring between whimpers, "We can't… we shouldn't be too loud… someone might hear…"

He grinned wildly, then deliberately shoved his hips against her body harder in just the right spot until she moaned helplessly, soft desperate whimpers coming from the back of her throat. Then it was his turn, as her fingers wrapped around him. He felt a tight sensation, and realised she was putting a condom on him. He lifted off her long enough to ask wordlessly, why? "Best to be safe… leave no trace…" she replied.

He propped himself on his forearms, pinning Sienna beneath him with one arm on either side, and as he was enveloped in her body, he gripped her wrists, not hard enough to leave bruises, but hard enough that she was trapped beneath him completely, and part of him wondered where this wildness was coming from, but knew that a lot of it was coming from her, because everything about her said that she wanted to be taken hard, by him, right there and then. He shoved himself hard into her, hearing her hiss with greedy satisfaction and moan fiercely, "More. More, give me more, right now, don't stop, Bobby, don't stop or…"

His mouth covered hers, his tongue dominating hers as his hips moved hard and rhythmically, reading her body like a book and finding exactly the right spot inside her. Sienna arched against the bed, grabbing his back hard as her face flushed and he thrust again and again, feeling her stifle her cries into a single high-pitched moan of satiation. Seeing her so wild, so abandoned, so thoroughly satisfied, was all he needed, and he felt his climax take his whole body over. He collapsed on top of her half-naked sweaty body, feeling her tremble beneath him as her breathing raced and her heart pounded.

"Fuuuck…" she breathed very slowly, then suddenly he heard her chuckle. "Oh my God… that was…"

"Yeah…" He lifted his head off her shoulder just far enough to look her in the eyes, feeling himself still throbbing inside her with his last few spasms dying away into an all-over glow of pleasure. "That… _was_."

"Ohhh Bobby…" she drawled, squeezing him lazily, getting the last few drops of pleasure from their coupling before her muscles relaxed and she went limp and heavy underneath him.

"Yeah… that was worth crossing the Atlantic for."

She snorted, her familiar snort of laughter. "Yeah. Yes, it was. My God, Bobby…" She looked him in the eyes again, her face slack and flushed and relaxed in a way he hadn't seen it be in weeks. "Well, we may be in mortal danger and we've had our first major row since I got back from England… but at least the sex is still good, huh?"

He grinned, showing his teeth, and Sienna smiled a little coyly in response. "More than good. Amazing. You are… amazing."

"You're with me, then, Bobby?"

He felt the outside world come back in again with a thud, and reluctantly began the process of untangling their bodies. "Yes. Yes, Sienna, I am."

She looked straight at him. "I love you. I have always loved you, and I still do, Bobby. Please, don't ever forget that, no matter what happens."

"Then don't you forget it, either. I…" He made himself say the words clearly and distinctly. "I love you, too, Sienna. Always."

She smiled. "Do you need to meet Alex at the airport?"

The mundanity of the question threw him a little, then he looked at his watch and realised she was right. "Oh… shit, yes, I do."

"Then you go meet her… do you mind if I don't come with you?"

"Why not?"

She gave a huge yawn. "I'm exhausted, Bobby. I got about three hours' rest on the plane, and I need to sleep soon or I'll fall over. Here's the best place."

"What is it, anyway? This place," he asked as he quickly pulled his clothes back on and hunted for his gloves and hat.

She shrugged. "A bolthole for spies. Drew told me about it ages ago. It's not an official MI5 building, though they know it exists – it's ancient, been here since the Second World War. There aren't that many people who know about it, Drew only knew himself because one of his predecessors told him when he retired. I told Langford – Drew's boss – I was going to stay here, rather than in a hotel. I don't want too many people knowing where I am, and anyway it was the only place I could think of where I'd feel safe without you."

Impulsively, he leaned over and kissed her. "Sienna… beautiful Sienna. What happens now?"

"I catch an hour's sleep, you go meet Alex and the two of you come meet me here, we sleep through what's left of the night, then-" she shivered "-we go trolling for John."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Sienna, I promise I won't let him hurt you."

She sighed and smiled. "Funny. I was going to say that to you."

"I can look after myself. Don't worry about me, beautiful Sienna."

"I love you, I'm supposed to worry about you." She blew him a kiss. He blew one back, then carefully closed the door behind him and descended the stairs into the early evening's cold. As he headed out through the maze of backstreets towards the main road where, hopefully, he could catch a cab, his thoughts raced.

_This is why I need you, Bobby. I need you to tell me if I'm right._

Was Sienna right, then? He knew only too well that he was hardly best placed to judge impartially, and wished fiercely for Eames' presence; her insight as both a cop and an intelligent woman would have been invaluable.

Well, Sienna was certainly right that John Durham had to hate both herself and Drew Davenport with a vengeance, and a year in solitary confinement, broken only by MI5's attempts to get him to talk, would have given him plenty of time to brood on that hatred. A rational man might take the view that, having escaped, he should flee the country as fast as possible. Then again, Goren thought, the sort of man who achieved a position of rank in one of the world's major police forces and _then_ went corrupt possessed exactly the combination of arrogance and intelligence necessary to believe that he could do both; take his revenge on those who had been responsible for his downfall, then cash in by selling the information he had on MI5's intelligence operations to the highest bidder and disappear overseas for good.

Yes, Sienna was right that her life and Davenport's were in danger, he thought, as, realistically, were those of anyone she cared about who happened to be within Durham's reach. He shivered, thinking of Tanya and Jack McAllister-Simmons, and reassured himself with the thought that if anyone was capable of ensuring her own personal safety, it would be Tanya Simmons. Jack, too, was intelligent – and cautious – enough not to take any risks.

But was Sienna's solution the right one? Would Davenport agree to go along with it? Certainly, if her thinking was that, of the two of them, Davenport stood a better chance in any sort of one-on-one fight with Durham, he couldn't fault the logic. As a field agent, he had years of training, and Goren knew from personal experience that, unlike Sienna, he would have no moral scruples about killing in self-defence if it was needed.

_But to use a friend as bait… even an ex-friend… an ex-_lover_… _That was very unlike his loving, gentle Sienna. She had toughened up, but only as much as she needed to in order to do her job. Painful as it was for him to admit, she clearly still did have some feelings for Davenport, although whether even she herself knew what they were he wasn't sure. However, he thought with some unease, he had never before heard her express such anger with him. He sighed heavily, called his years of police discipline to the fore, and forced himself to have the thought he'd been trying to avoid.

_Does Sienna want to use Davenport as bait because she really thinks it's the best way to catch Durham, or does she just want to do to him what he did to her, and see how he likes it?_

He hated himself for even thinking that about his beloved… _but let's face it, Goren, if she was anyone else in this situation, it would be the _first_ thing that came to mind. _

"Excuse me, do you know where Albion Street is?"

The voice broke into his consciousness, disorientating him. He glanced up to see another man standing nearby with a puzzled expression, as near as he could tell beneath the ski cap and scarf the man was wearing.

"Uh… no, sorry. I'm visiting… I got lost," he extemporised.

"Yes, these streets can be very confusing, can't they? I'm a bit lost too and I think I'm late to meet someone… do you know what time it is?"

He glanced down at his watch. "Uh… half past six."

"Thanks. Oh, by the way… "

He glanced up sharply at the nearness of the other man's voice. In the handful of seconds it had taken him to check his watch, the other man had stepped in very close to him, too close…

He had the impression of a quick, flashing smile, his last sight before things went fuzzy and the world went black, and the last sounds were the stranger's words:

"… _wrong turn."_

***

**Interlude 2: "What Happened At Glastonbury: A Bit Of Personal Growth"**

"Wow, you four got ratted last night, didn't you?"

"No, Duncan. These three did. I just had a couple." Tanya's Look made the point more effectively than her words. Which, if you looked closely at the dark marks under her eyes, were not strictly true, but she had a certain position as the invincible head of the dojo to maintain. Not to mention, she was bigger than either myself, Jack, or Drew, so probably the drink hadn't affected her too badly.

The rest of us, on the other hand… Jack and Drew were wearing sunglasses and looking pasty. I was wearing a baseball cap pulled low on my forehead. And, probably, also looking pasty. We were hanging around in a large parking lot in London with our assorted luggage, awaiting the bus that would carry us to Glastonbury. Tanya had seen to it that we were ticked off on the register of volunteers and had our ID badges, and as I waited for the paracetamols I'd just swallowed to take effect, I looked around and was slightly stunned by the sheer scale of the operation. I'd known the Festival was big, but I hadn't fully realised it was _that_ big. There were hundreds of people waiting, and this was for one set of coaches on one day; there were others picking up from other locations across the UK both on the previous day and throughout the rest of the day, plus people who were making their own way down.

I nudged Tanya. "How many of us are there?"

"Working the bars?" She frowned briefly. "A couple of thousand."

"Holy crap."

"Yeah. Glastonbury has… ooh… about 188,000 people there in total." She grinned and remarked professionally, "It's quite an exercise in logistics!"

Amp grinned. "Anyone want a bacon sandwich? Nice, greasy, bacon sandwich, anyone?" He waved the remains of his first sandwich around in front of Jack, who shrank away from it, and glared sickly. Drew just shrugged. "Yeah, why not? Make yourself useful, Duncan, get two." He looked at me. "Three? My treat."

"No. Thank you."

Beside me, Mark, who made up the remaining member of our team of six along with Duncan, chuckled from behind the newspaper he was reading. "Getting pissed _before_ you go to Glastonbury? Not necessarily the brightest idea."

_Yeah, I'm really going to take advice from a guy whose wife kicked him out after he screwed the babysitter, _I mentally snapped back, and then mentally kicked myself for being a bitch. Mark wasn't a bad guy. A bit screwed-up, but who wasn't?

It occurred to me with a certain unease that there might be ulterior motives behind Tanya's choice of Mark to round out the team. There were actually twelve of us going altogether from the dojo. Tanya was heading up one team of six, with one of her instructors, Leo, heading up the other.

Technically, if leadership was being assigned in terms of seniority, it should have been Drew heading up the other team. He was Tanya's longest-serving student; she had been teaching him since she was fifteen and he seventeen. But friendship had prevailed, and Drew was on our team with her, Jack, and me, or the "Awesome Foursome", as Amp kept referring to us. Well, friendship, and the fact that Drew and Leo did not get on well, due to a combination of the fact that Leo held his more senior position in the dojo largely due to the fact that Drew didn't particularly want the responsibility, meaning that at any point, technically, Drew could replace him.

That, and the fact that, according to Jack, Leo was secretly something of a homophobe, whereas Drew was an un-secret homophobe-phobe. Interestingly, though, I thought, Drew reined in his usual flamboyance about his sexuality whenever he was in the dojo. He was open if asked, but never made a point of it. Partly, I thought, because there were, sadly, various considerations that came into being about having an openly gay instructor in a school with children's classes (even in this day and age), but I also wondered if it was partly due to his feeling secure enough in there to drop the act…

… In any case, Tanya had selected her teams, and Mark was on ours, which I found… concerning, I supposed. She and Jack had too much class to actually stick Mark under my nose and say "There you go, nice single male for you, get on with it", but I wondered if this was her version of it.

I could see the logic. Mark was around my age, attractive, intelligent, gainfully employed in a similar line of work to me, at which he was successful (Detective Inspector in the Metropolitan Police's Art Crimes Squad). Separated with two young kids, but who didn't have a bit of a history at our age?

_At our age_, now, there was a depressing thought. _Time to face reality, Sienna, _I thought gloomily. _Thirty is coming into view, so let's face it, from now on it's not single young guys with no baggage, it's nearly middle-aged men with a divorce behind them, or something like it. And it's not like _you_ don't have a past._

Which was the problem. I could see the appeal of Mark. I could see the logic; he would fit in just fine with myself, Jack and Tanya, and he even got on reasonably well with Drew. Although where exactly Drew himself would fit in with all this I still wasn't sure. _Unless _he_ finds a partner… hah, a flying pig on Mars would be a more realistic picture._

But Mark wasn't my type. _You mean he's not Bobby_, my subconscious thought, and I pushed it away. Bobby was gone, and he and I would never be together again, so I should just face up to reality, and get on with it.

"All aboard!" Duncan yelled cheerfully, returning from the local sandwich shop with a couple of steaming sandwiches in his hand. He handed one to Drew, stuffed the other into his jacket pocket and trotted off to load the rucksacks into the belly of the buses. I followed him and offered to help, but he just shrugged and picked up two of the huge bags with one large hand. "It's alright, SiSi, I've got it, but cheers… Hi, Robyn." He waved to his girlfriend, who'd come to see him off, and who ran over to kiss him goodbye. I left them to it, and rejoined the others.

"Thank you, Amp," Drew yelled, and cheerfully shoved his way onto the bus and up the stairs, commandeering six seats at the front on the top deck. Jack and I followed him up, shortly followed by Tanya, Mark and Amp. I chose a seat next to the window, wanting to see where we were going. I hadn't seen as much of England as I wanted to, having been stuck in London for work for most of my time here, and I was quite looking forward to seeing more of it. At least, once my hangover lifted.

"Got everything you need?" Drew asked me, settling in beside me and stretching his long legs into the aisle.

"A new head would be nice," I replied.

"Aww, poor little SiSi!" Drew teased me. "Sure you don't want a bacon sandwich?" He waved his at me. I glared.

"Go. Away. And let me die in peace."

He chuckled, hugged me briefly across the shoulders, kissed the side of my head, then started munching the sandwich as though his life depended on it. I returned to staring out of the window. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Tanya and Jack settling in in front of me, and Mark and Amp occupying the seats beside us, with Leo's team following on behind them.

The bus gave an almighty shudder and jerk, then rolled forward to the accompaniment of much cheering throughout the bus.

"We're off!" Duncan yelled behind me. "Woo-hoo!" More loud cheers came from behind him.

In front of me, Jack turned round and smiled. "Looking forward to this, SiSi? You okay?"

I smiled back at him, reached forward, and gently squeezed his arm. "Oh yeah, it's going to be great!"

"Oh, you bet it will be." He smiled hugely. "I haven't been to the Festival since… Drew, when was it?"

Drew _mmphed_ through a mouthful of sandwich. "Dunno… what year was it you were hanging around London wearing a leather jacket and trying out the starving-in-garret-unsigned-rock-star approach to life?"

"That was uncalled-for. Around the same time you were dying your hair bleached blond and prancing around in tight trousers in some of the dodgier bits of Soho. Could have been '95, I guess."

"Why are you two always so horrible to each other?" I asked.

"Because, if we were nice to each other, people would think we were gay," Drew and Jack chorused in perfect unison, then looked at each other and frowned with identical expressions of concern.

"No, it's only funny if _I_ say it, Jack. If _you_ say it, it just sounds prejudiced."

"Alright, you two have got to stop this." Amp leaned forward between myself and Drew. "It's dead worrying. I mean, it _starts_ with the two of you reading each other's minds, and that's all right, but what if it spreads? What if you start reading _my_ mind? That would be bad."

"You're right, Duncan, that _is_ a frightening thought," Drew replied, and grinned. Amp flashed him the finger, grinned back, then settled back in his seat to discuss the Festival line-up with Mark. Drew and Jack exchanged wry smiles, then Jack turned round to snuggle in beside Tanya.

_Hmm. Score one for the "Jack and Drew used to fuck" theory?_ I wondered. I'd begun to suspect a while back that, just possibly, Jack and Drew had at one point been more to each other than just platonic friends. Jack was happily married to Tanya, but that didn't mean he hadn't played around a bit in his younger days, I thought. However, I was unlikely to find out for definite. I didn't want to ask Jack or Drew directly in case it looked like I was prying into their personal lives, and, despite the fact that Tanya's mind was as broad as a plank, I didn't quite think I could ask even her the question "So, did your husband and your gay male best friend used to fuck each other?"

I shrugged and dismissed the thought, taking a swig from the bottle of water in my bag and noted that my headache seemed to be lifting.

"Flapjack?" Jack turned round again and offered me a small cake from a bag. I took one, deciding it would do me good to eat. It was delicious, as was everything Jack cooked. I took another, causing Jack to smile hugely and pat my arm, then leaned back into my seat and stared out the window, watching London's streets sliding by. We were out of the city centre down and onto one of the big arterial roads leading to the west. I sighed, tried not to wish that Bobby was with me, and thought of nothing.

***

Three hours into the journey, and my hangover had been replaced by a sensation of dull boredom. We'd stopped once for a bathroom break, and we were supposedly near the festival site, but the journey seemed to be taking forever, and I wasn't succeeding in my plans not to think of Bobby.

_He would have loved this_, I thought. It would have been a slightly odd picture, I supposed, to someone who didn't know Bobby well, the New York City detective in his sharp suits hanging out with a load of kids and aging hippies in a muddy field… but only if you didn't know Bobby well. Didn't know that he found humanity infinitely interesting, and that he would have loved the festival even if he didn't care too much about the music, because he would have loved the chance to watch people being people. _That, and he would have liked it because _you_ liked it, and you and he loved to see each other happy_…

I banished the thought fiercely, reminding myself that if Bobby had really liked to see me happy, he'd have introduced me as his partner – his _romantic_ partner – to his mother, and made our relationship permanent.

Or would he? Had I pushed too hard, too soon? Would I have got what I wanted if I'd been willing to wait for longer?

Who knew? I thought sadly. Bobby and I were history now. I loved him so much, but I would need to put him behind me if I was ever going to have another relationship.

_Like you did with John?_ I thought miserably. I'd gone from one fucked-up relationship to another, even more fucked-up relationship, with a senior police officer who'd turned out to be corrupt. Not exactly ideal, since I worked for Interpol myself and couldn't afford even the hint of corruption to attach itself to me. Drew, who had told me in the first place about John's corruption, had helped me take John down, but not before I was nearly killed in the process. I still had a livid red scar on my left leg as a permanent reminder of what could have happened if the shot that had been intended for my heart hadn't missed.

It really hadn't been my year for romantic relationships.

"Look, there's Stonehenge!"

I was roused out of my mood by a loud yell from behind me, and turned to see Amp pointing excitedly at the window. Around me, others were doing the same, peering excitedly through the windows to the large ring of ancient stones beside the road. I hadn't realised it ran so close to the ancient monument; I could almost have reached out my hand and touched them.

Beside me, Drew looked up from the book he was reading and smiled. "Nearly there, hey?"

"How nearly is nearly?"

"Um. About an hour."

"Oh, great."

"Hey, there's a lot of people trying to get into one small space," he pointed out.

"Yeah." I smiled half-heartedly, and returned to staring out of the window.

The next thing I knew, I was standing somewhere familiar. It was dark, and cold, and there was what felt like mud, no, wet sand beneath my four feet. I realised then that I was standing on all fours, but with dream-logic, that was quite normal.

I looked around under the stormy, orange and black sky over the beach, staring out over the jagged rocks to the wild sea beyond. Beside me, a giant lion with a black mane looked at me mournfully. I turned to mouth _I'm sorry_, but my new mouth wouldn't form the words, and it loped off into the distance, vanishing beyond a hill out of sight.

I turned around slowly to see where I was. Over my head, a large bat fluttered, but I ignored it, focussing instead on another lion, lolling regally on a nearby sand dune. It had no mane, and I realised that it was a lioness. It grinned at me, then lowered its great head to affectionately lick the top of the head of a small tabby cat that lay curled comfortably between its great paws. The small tabby closed its eyes in happiness, then rubbed its head affectionately against the side of the great beast's face, licking it gently.

I turned my gaze from the two cats, then spotted a nearby pool of water. I loped over to get a drink and stared at my reflection.

I was a fox. A small fox with red fur and sad green eyes looked up at me from the pool. I stared for a few moments, mesmerised, then became aware of another presence. Another fox appeared in the water beside me, and I turned to see a lanky, sandy-furred fox with grey eyes grinning at me. It lolled its tongue, and drank greedily from the pool.

"Didn't you used to be a crow?" I asked.

The sandy-furred fox lolled its tongue at me again and spoke. "Everyone's allowed a bit of personal growth. Come play." It flicked its tail at me.

I shook my head, and it loped off wagging its tail. I looked down into the pool sadly, and saw another, horrible reflection.

I flicked my head up, and saw a hideous lizard there on the other side of the pool, with a giant frill around its neck and yellow staring eyes. It hissed at me. "Should have shot you, bitch, when I had the chance."

"I'm not afraid of you," I replied. "You're in prison for life. You can't do anything to any of us. I'm not afraid of you."

"No, it's _me_ you should be afraid of." A horrible rough voice boomed from behind me, and I felt fear for the first time. I whipped around to see a giant black dog with dripping jaws looming behind me. It smiled horribly, revealing rows of yellow teeth, and lunged for me. I tried to dodge, but it was too quick and grabbed my shoulder, shaking me…

"…Wake up, SiSi, we're nearly here!"

I jerked awake to find Drew shaking my shoulder. "Wake up, sleepy!"

I bolted upright and realised that I'd been asleep on Drew's shoulder for at least the past hour. "Shit, where are we?"

"Nearly here, look!" Drew pointed excitedly out of the window and I gasped.

In front of us, as the bus trundled slowly down the hill, the Festival lay sprawled out across the hills. It seemed to cover the entire valley in a sea of blue tents, with here and there a candy-striped yellow and red giant tent, or white marquee, poking out above the throng. On one of them, a giant inflatable figure of a blue man lay reclining; elsewhere the silver point which I realised must be the Festival's main stage, the Pyramid Stage, pointed skywards, and I could see a huge grey oblong which I suddenly realised was a cinema screen in one of the other fields. At the back I could see rows and rows of white points, which I realised must be tipis, then the white oblongs of caravans and Winnebagos, and then rows and rows and rows of cars. There was so _much_ of it, filling the eye as far as I could see.

"Oh, holy crap, it's a city," I remarked.

"Yep, nearly two hundred thousand people. Pretty impressive, huh?"

I glanced at Drew's face, and saw that he was smiling like a kid on Christmas morning. I'd never seen him look so purely happy in the two years I'd known him, and for his sake, I put on a big smile of my own. "Yeah!"

"You're going to love this, SiSi," he promised. "Just as well you got some sleep now." He paused and rubbed his shoulder. "Even if you did just drool all over my jacket."

I smiled. "It will wash. Are we nearly there yet?"

"Hell yes!" Tanya grinned at me. "Nearly there. We'll put the tents up and go and explore!"

"Fantastic!" I smiled back at her, and decided that I was not going to let my crappy mood spoil my friends' much-deserved vacation. Besides, I was starting to feel excited myself.

I had no idea what the next four days held, but at least it would be a break from reality.


	5. Gram Central

He came to in a large space. Even before he opened his eyes, he knew that; it was obvious from the echoes from the surrounding walls. Noises of traffic, and what sounded like a construction site… He opened his eyes, warily, and looked around.

It was dark with only a little murky light, but from what he could make out, he seemed to be in an abandoned office block. The traffic noise was slightly muted, and the patterns of shadows on the wall implied that he was at least one floor up from the ground, probably at least two.

Quickly, he surveyed the surrounding area. There appeared to be no-one else nearby, so he took a minute to survey himself. He still felt a little woozy from the chemicals he had inhaled, but his head seemed to be clearing rapidly. He had a slight headache, but nothing like the skull-splitting pain he would have expected. He was clothed in his shirt and pants; as he checked, he was unsurprised to find that his gun and badge were missing. His clothes appeared not to have been touched, but his feet were cold, and as he looked down, he realised that his socks and shoes were missing, along with his jacket and overcoat. At that latter realisation, he shivered reflexively, the cold beginning to bite.

_Interesting, _he thought, trying to form a profile of whoever had brought him here. That he had been left most of his clothes, but not his shoes or coat, suggested strongly that whoever had brought him here meant him no physical harm, but did intend some measure of control over him. It also conveyed another, more disturbing message: _I can take your shoes, your gun, your badge and your coat. Annoy or displease me, and I could take the rest, too_.

Apart from the headache, he seemed mostly physically unharmed, although his lower abdomen was slightly sore, and he pulled his shirt aside to examine it. The skin underneath was discoloured with the beginnings of a bruise, and he suspected from its location that he had been brought here by someone using a fireman's carry, the bruise being where that person's shoulder had dug into his belly during the carry.

That implied one person had brought him here, which in turn implied that the other person was male, and at least the same size as he himself; he doubted a woman or a smaller man would have been able to move his six-foot-plus frame up two flights of stairs.

As his eyes adjusted, he stood up, and began to walk towards the window.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The voice was English, male, and sounded like the voice of an adult man; not young, not old. He turned slowly in its direction, trying to slow his heartbeat and not let the surprise show. As he turned, he could make out the shape of a human form against the rear wall of the old office.

A man was sitting upon a table there, his feet drawn up onto the table. He was in darkness, his face hidden, but his shape could be made out quite clearly against the pale wall. He was hugging his knees, and it struck Goren that this was an odd posture for his captor to take. Not dominant, not forceful, but oddly relaxed. The other man could have been sitting on a beach somewhere for all the tension that showed in his body; he looked completely in control of the situation.

"As I said," the man continued, "I wouldn't do that. Do you know where you are?"

"No."

The man shrugged. "King's Cross. Not the railway station, the surrounding area, which alas is home to quite a lot of people with substance abuse problems." He chuckled softly. "They used to call this place "Gram Central", then we raided it a few times, and the dealers and junkies went elsewhere. No-one's yet got round to clearing it up…"

He gestured at the floor, and Goren saw with a shiver that there were several used syringes lying scattered on the floor. There were undoubtedly more that he couldn't see, and he winced at the realisation of what could have happened if he'd stepped on one in his bare feet.

"Can I have my shoes?" he asked suddenly. The other man chuckled again.

"In due course, yes. I don't mean you harm, you understand… but I'd rather you didn't go running off any time soon."

He stood, suddenly, and padded forward into the light. Goren noticed with a trace of sourness that the other man was wearing solid-looking boots with thick soles. He was also wearing black from head to toe, but what caught Goren's attention, and made him blink with stunned surprise, was his face.

He could have been looking at himself. Well, himself ten years ago; the other man was in his early thirties. He was tall, Goren's height, and heavily built with powerful muscles, clearly defined under the black roll-neck sweater he was wearing.

Their faces were not completely alike. Goren's own ancestry contained Italian blood, and some German on his mother's side. He knew nothing of this man's family, but he guessed that several generations of British ancestors had donated their genes to his broad face. His broad, handsome, face, that resembled Goren's just slightly. Not enough that they would be mistaken for each other, but still… the other man's skin was a little paler, but he too had dark curly hair and dark eyes.

As if sensing his thoughts, the other man smiled slightly. "Do you know who I am?"

Goren felt his heart race faster. He was not a man to be easily afraid; his years in the Army and the NYPD had trained him not to flinch at bad situations. Still, he was alone with no backup, no-one who knew where he was, facing someone who undoubtedly knew the building and the surrounding area well, and who could easily be concealing several weapons.

Part of his mind whispered, _alone with a killer_…

"John Durham." He said the words as plainly as he could.

The man smiled, tipping his head slightly. "Yes indeed." He scrutinised Goren thoughtfully. "So, you haven't seen a photo of me? That's a bit slack. I'm surprised Sienna didn't shove one in front of your nose marked "Kill on sight"."

_He wants a response; don't give it to him_. He shrugged. "They don't want you dead; they want you caught."

"I'm not talking about Five, I'm talking about her…" Durham shrugged. "I guess I'm not her favourite person." He chuckled.

Again, Goren held his response in check, his mind racing. He recognised the probing technique Durham was using only too well, the seemingly light-hearted attempts to get someone to open up, to start talking. But why was he using it?

"Why did you bring me here?"

"You mean, as opposed to making you take me to Sienna and then twisting your arm until you started screaming loudly enough to wake her up and make her come out of the rabbit hole?" Durham smirked a little, and he sniffed a little, just slightly, but enough that it was obvious that he had detected Sienna's scent on Goren's body and clothes. Infuriatingly, Goren felt himself flush slightly.

"I could do that," Durham went on. "I could have done that, couldn't I? But I didn't. Here you are, completely unharmed."

"What do you want?"

Durham smiled patiently. "You don't need to interrogate me, Goren. I'm getting there!" He turned slightly, as if gathering his thoughts, then turned back to Goren, and his face was deadly serious. "I have an offer for you."

"Why would you think I'd be interested in anything you could offer me?" Goren let some of his anger show; it was time to take back some control of the situation. "You betrayed everything you were supposed to protect. You were corrupt, and you got Sienna shot, and you've said that you wanted to shoot her yourself." _And you slept with her_.

"And I slept with her. Mind you, at least ten others got there before me, including you; she was a busy girl when she was younger…" He smiled a little at Goren's expression, then his face went cold. "Enough of the fucking around. Listen to me, Goren, and don't interrupt, because you're going to want to hear this." He leaned in, his voice going soft. "What if I told you that that everything you've been told about me is a lie? That I was never corrupt?"

"Why…"

"Don't interrupt. Listen!" He turned suddenly, pacing the floor. "I wanted to infiltrate the Barayev organisation. They're responsible for trafficking at least a quarter of the women currently in forced prostitution in London, plus god knows how many drugs. I couldn't get approval to do that, so I decided to... improvise. I pretended to them that I wanted in, that they'd have me as their man on the inside."

He turned to face Goren suddenly, leaning in close, and Goren heard the faint _snap_ of a syringe cracking under his boot. "I was never corrupt, Goren. Never! But because I didn't have authorisation, it _looked_ that way. Then Five got involved, and fucked things up like they usually do." He snarled. "If that stupid, incompetent bastard Davenport had done his job properly, he'd have realised that. But no, he needed a scalp to add to his belt, so he sent Sienna in to pretend to be my girlfriend, and I fucking fell for it, because she does sweet and innocent very well…"

"She _was_ innocent!"

"Yes, and the reason she isn't, any more, is because that bastard got her involved in this. He's the one that got her shot, Goren, not me. I'm the one who shoved her out of the way of that bullet, she'd be dead if it wasn't for me. He's the one whose fucking neck you should want to break."

"Even though you said yourself you wanted to shoot her?"

Durham sighed. "The Barayev organisation is big, Goren. They have people in prison who pass information to them. As far as they know, I'm still their man, but if they'd thought for one minute that I wasn't…" He shivered. "I had to make it look convincing, but I don't want Sienna." He laughed suddenly. "I don't want her for anything; you can have her! Here's my proposal, Goren. I want my job back. I want to be reinstated, and I want Davenport fired, and I want you to help me with all of that."

He looked expectantly at Goren, who didn't reply, but stayed silent, waiting for the other man to go on. _I can play the interrogation game too_, he thought. Durham's smugness was starting to grate.

After a pause, he continued. "I'm a wanted man, I can't show my face in public, but I still have links to the Barayev organisation. Right now, they think I'm their man. They're willing to help me get revenge, in exchange for what I know about their rivals and about the people who Five and the Met have inside their organisation. They're supposed to be helping me do that tomorrow, Goren. What's supposed to happen is, I get you, Sienna, and your colleague – what's her name, Eames? – to go out somewhere they can get to you. Maybe Simmons and McAllister's house. I mean, after you've finished your work with the Met and Five, Sienna would want to visit her friends before she flew back to the States, wouldn't she, with it being just before Christmas? And there's quite a lot of places for a nice ambush around there."

His face was deadly serious. "The plan is, they shoot you and Eames, maybe Simmons and McAllister too if they get in the way, and take Sienna as a prisoner for me. Davenport comes looking for her, and…" He made a sudden, sharp twisting motion with his hands. "Well, after a while, anyway. A captured MI5 operative knows a lot of useful information, and everyone talks once you get out the electrodes."

He looked Goren directly in the eyes. "That's what they think is going to happen. I want you to help me make sure it doesn't." He smiled. "What's going to happen is, the three of you play along with that, but Five watch you like hawks…"

"…and when things unfold just as you describe them, that's proof that you're telling the truth." Durham made to speak, but Goren raised a hand, and he closed his mouth, smiling. "And with that as your calling card, you come back in and trade the information you've got on the Barayev organisation as the price of your re-entry into the Metropolitan Police."

"All hail John Durham, the conquering hero!" Durham grinned. "You can see the appeal, can't you? This works for all of us. I get my job back, we all put the Barayev gang out of business, you and Sienna can sail happily off into the sunset, and that incompetent bastard Davenport gets fired. Works well for us all – but I can't do it without your help. They'll never listen to me, but with the help of a decorated NYPD Major Case detective…"

Goren chuckled himself. "You can save the flattery."

Durham returned the chuckle. "So, Goren. Are you in?"


	6. Uncertainty

Chapter 6 – "Uncertainty"

"Am I in or out?" He repeated Durham's words thoughtfully, drawing them out, then turned on the spot to face the other man. "It's very clever."

Durham cocked his head on one side. It was difficult to see past the other man's self-assurance, but Goren thought he detected just a tinge of uncertainty.

"What you've done here… it's very clever." He gestured eloquently around them. "You get me away from Sienna. You knock me out, but you don't harm me or try to use me to get to Sienna… you just keep enough control to be sure I'll listen to you. Even the officers in the van you escaped from, they were knocked out. It's very clever. I have to admit… if you're as guilty as I've been told, you're hiding it very well. As performances go, it's flawless."

"I'm not fucking performing, Goren. And I don't have all day to stand here listening to you talk."

"Now, you see that? That was good too. That could be a threat… or it could be that that you're an innocent man on the run, and every so often, the stress of it just gets to you."

"You're stalling," Durham pointed out, almost smiling, but not quite.

"Yeah. What you've said…" He pretended to consider. "It's a tempting offer. Very tempting."

Durham smiled fully this time, a flash of teeth, white against the darkness of his stubble. "You don't like that b- Davenport- very much either, do you?"

Goren returned the smile, hiding his real reason for smiling behind the pretence of playing along with Durham; the other man had just revealed his own thought processes. _That's what you think is the key to getting me on your side. You're not appealing to my sense of justice or professional solidarity, not offering me the chance to bring down a criminal organisation, or restore the career of a wrongly imprisoned police officer. You think offering me the chance to get even with the man who stole my girlfriend is the way to get me on your side. _

_I'm just a little insulted_.

"No… no, I don't." He didn't have to fake that too much. If at all.

"He fucked me over, he fucked you over, most of all, he fucked Sienna over," Durham said, and inwardly, Goren smiled, but didn't let it show; the cold floor of the abandoned room was an ever-constant reminder that, physically at least, he was at Durham's mercy. _He wants to seal the deal. He's in a hurry_.

"Yeah." Goren inwardly took a deep breath. This next part had to be convincing. "So, how does this work? I walk out of here and… do what?"

"Take my offer to MI5," Durham said urgently. "Take my offer to MI5. They'll take it, Goren. The Barayev organisation trafficks more drugs, women and illegal firearms into London than any other, and anything that inflicts even a small blow on them is something they'll want."

"And how do you know they won't just side with their own agent?"

Durham smiled. _He likes to display his own cleverness, _Goren decided, and tried very hard not to think about how Sienna might have found that appealing. Perhaps that was why Durham was pushing the "even the score with Davenport" angle: he was trying to keep Goren's mind off the fact that there, standing in front of him, was the man who had replaced him in Sienna's affections and in her bed. If the situation had been reversed, he might have tried the same tactic, and it might even have worked…

Except that he could still scent Sienna, faintly, on his own skin._ Except that she's with me now, and I know that, and I'm going to get over this thing I have about her past, somehow… and, also, I don't think with my dick. _

"Well, that would be pretty much why I need you." Durham grinned at him. "I hear that you can persuade anyone into going along with just about anything…"

"I'm not a con-artist."

"Sorry, did I bruise your professional pride?" Durham chuckled. "No offence intended, Goren, but you see where I'm going with this. I need someone I can trust to put my case across, and, well," he spread his hands and looked Goren in the eye, "You're my best chance. I need someone who can persuade them to take a chance on me, and, if they do, all of us win. I win, you win, Sienna wins, they win. Help me, Goren. Please."

"Okay."

"You'll do it." Durham smiled and closed his eyes briefly in satisfaction. "Excellent."

"Can I have my shoes?"

"Of course." Durham smiled, but didn't make a move. "I'll leave them by the door. Here." He handed over a piece of card with a cellphone number written on. "Call me on that when you've spoken to Five."

"That's it?" Goren asked. "No code words? No pre-arranged phrases between us to let you know if Five have agreed to go ahead with it?"

"Nah." Durham shook his head. "I leave that kind of crap to the spooks. Bastards." His face darkened just for a second, then lightened again. "I'm in your hands, Goren. Don't leave it too long before you call. Oh, and give it a good ten minutes before you follow me out." He smiled, and walked away.

_You're in Sienna's hands_, he thought at Durham's back, but didn't say.

Ten minutes later, shivering inside the warmth of his coat and shoes, he stumbled out of the building, his mind in a whirl.

_Focus, Bobby_.

His immediate instinct was to run straight back to Sienna and tell her what had happened, and his rational decision as a experienced police officer was to head straight out into the street where there were plenty of potential witnesses and several CCTV cameras, where he walked about until he came across a shop selling cellphones, bought the cheapest he could find, then walked until he came to the entrance to a shopping mall, where the background noise would make listening in on him very difficult. His cellphone had been out of his possession for the length of time he'd been unconscious, and realistically he could no longer assume it was safe to use. If Durham had been lying about meaning him and Sienna no harm, if he wanted to track them or listen in on Goren's cellphone, he'd had plenty of time to install recording and tracking software on it.

He wondered all the time if he was being unnecessarily paranoid. If Durham had wanted him dead or harmed, he could easily have done so at any point in the past – he checked his watch again – half hour.

_But if he wants Sienna – if he's lying to me – then he could well have decided that the fastest way to find her is to capture me, and spin me a bullshit story about how he's the misunderstood victim, then let me go and watch me run straight back to where she is, because I'd resist being tortured if I had to, to keep her safe, so tricking me would be faster…_

One thing he was sure of: everything Sienna had told him about Durham having been an excellent detective had been correct. The other man had the same mix of intelligence, deviousness and control over his emotions that he himself possessed. _That Sienna finds attractive_… The thought would have worried him, but the memory of Sienna's naked body against his less than an hour ago kept it at bay.

It was immensely frustrating for him to admit, but he genuinely could not – quite – tell whether Durham was sincere or not. His usual approach when forming a profile was to look into someone's background, see them in their home surroundings, so that when they met face-to-face in the interrogation room, he already had the background knowledge necessary to find their weak spots and make them crack. He had none of that knowledge available to him, except in the form of the knowledge inside Sienna's head.

_Sienna_… First, last, and foremost, he thought, his priority must be to keep her safe. Her, and Eames, who – he looked at his watch with a wince – would be arriving in London at any moment. The thought lent him urgency, and without further hesitation, he flipped open his own cell, put Sienna's number into the phone he'd just bought, and called.

Her voice was muzzy from sleep, and he suppressed a feeling of guilt at waking her. "Bobby? Are you okay?"

"Sienna, I'm fine. Listen, I don't want you to w- Do you have a safe way of getting out of the place you are now?"

"Bobby, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm perfectly safe, and so are you, but we need to talk in person. How did you get to that apartment?"

"One of MI5's drivers took me there; I can get one of them to escort me out…" She was waking up rapidly, and he could hear it in her voice. "Bobby, are you okay?" Her voice was sharp with worry. "Are you hurt, Bobby, did someone-"

"Sienna!" He used his "cop" voice, the voice of authority, which he had never used to her before, but it was necessary now. Speaking slowly and firmly, he replied, "Sienna, I'm well. I will meet you at the airport, if you have a safe way of getting there."

"Yes – yes, one of Five's drivers can meet me and take me there. Bobby, swear to me that you're alright…"

"Sienna." He softened his voice to a tone he only ever used with her, when they were alone together. "Sienna, I'm well. The only thing wrong with me is that I'm worried about you. Promise me that you won't take any risks, and I'll see you when we meet Alex."

"Bobby, I promise." He could hear in her voice that she was standing up, dressing, strapping her gun in its holster across her body and pulling on her shoes one-handed. "I'll be perfectly safe. I love you."

"I love you. See you at Heathrow airport." He ended the call, took a deep breath, then rang Eames' cell. No reply except her answering service. He thought quickly, then left a message: "Eames, it's Bobby. I need you to wait for me at the airport. Don't worry, but also don't leave the airport unless Sienna and I are there."

Running out into the street, he hailed a cab, told the driver to take him to Heathrow airport as fast as he could (a challenge he accepted with alacrity), and sat on the edge of his seat as the man pulled out into traffic with a squeal from the clutch.

He turned over the situation in his head. What was he sure of, and what was he not sure of?

Firstly, Durham's argument to him, though far-fetched, was not unconvincing. Even having met the man for barely thirty minutes, he was sure that Durham possessed the courage, the intelligence and the initiative (not to mention the sheer chutzpah) to have decided to go undercover without authorisation or backup if he thought it was the only way to get results.

Secondly, possessing courage and intelligence did not, in and of themselves, mean that a person was on the side of the angels. Having met the man for barely thirty minutes, he was not sure that Durham was telling the truth, or whether he had indeed been corrupt and was now trying to wriggle out of the consequences. In which case, anything that put him back in his old position in the police would be a near-catastrophic error.

Thirdly, though it was risky, he was as sure as Durham obviously was that the offer of evidence that could potentially bring down a major trafficking organisation was too tempting for MI5 and the Metropolitan Police to ignore. He could not, he thought, lie to them about having encountered Durham at all regardless of whether he trusted the man. Durham was, after all, a convicted felon on the run and not informing the authorities would be a breach of his own duties as a police officer. Therefore, he would have to do as Durham had suggested, and tell them the full details of what had just happened.

Fourthly, he himself had two options: to tell Sienna and Eames about his encounter with Durham immediately, or wait until they arrived at MI5's headquarters, and then tell everyone involved at once.

He rejected the second option instantly. Both women would be rightfully furious that he'd cut them out of the decision-making process and, more importantly, he needed their insight into the situation. Therefore, he needed to speak to both Sienna and Eames about his encounter with Durham before they told MI5, and the three of them would have to decide together whether they believed he was sincere.

There were so many unknowns, he thought uneasily. He had no way of knowing how MI5 would react to this situation, whether they would in fact side with Davenport in believing that Durham was corrupt, whether they would take a chance on the possibility of Durham telling the truth in the hope of striking a telling blow in the ongoing war on trafficking and drugs, and what role exactly they intended he, Sienna and Eames to play in all of this. The scar on Sienna's leg was a constant reminder that at least some people in Five were more than willing to risk injuring or killing a few pawns as part of a wider strategy...

_What does the famous Detective Robert Goren think about this situation?_ he thought mordantly.

The famous Detective Goren realised that, for all his intelligence, all his attempts to rationally think through the situation,

Did he trust Durham, or not?

And, if he did, would Sienna?


	7. Trusting No One

Alex Eames rubbed her eyes wearily. She could swear she had grit in them. As she hauled herself through immigration and waited impatiently to snag her suitcase from the baggage carousel, she thought of all the things she would rather be doing than being stuck in rainy, dark London in the week before Christmas, away from her family and friends, helping out an investigation into events which, if she was entirely honest, she would have been just as happy to forget.

_Duty calls_, she reminded herself sternly, touching her gold shield where it rested securely in her coat's inside pocket. As she dragged the suitcase off the carousel, she forced herself to focus.

It was not that she didn't want to help out their fellow police officers in the Metropolitan Police. Nor that she didn't want to do whatever she could to help the ongoing fight against terrorism.

She just wished she didn't have to do it _right now_.

_Not to mention the fact that Sienna's psycho ex-boyfriend escaped from prison only recently…_

She'd spent the flight over pondering whether Sienna was right, that the timing was a little _too_ pat for this to be a coincidence – that they had been called over to London at precisely the same time that John Durham was the subject of a manhunt by the UK police and security services – or whether the younger woman was just being paranoid. She still wasn't sure. Yes, it _was_ a hell of a coincidence, but were MI5 really that manipulative?

Her thoughts were interrupted by someone calling her name loudly. "Alex! Over here!"

She turned her head and saw Sienna and Bobby waiting for her on the other side of the barrier. They were waving enthusiastically… no, not enthusiastically, she realised. _Frantically_ was closer to it, she realised as she got nearer.

"Alex, you're here, that's great," Sienna murmured, practically snatching the suitcase out of her hands. "We need to go, our car is waiting."

"Uh… what?" She resisted the urge to rub her eyes again and yawn.

"We need to get going, now."

"What's the hurry?" She'd been keeping herself going throughout the last interminable hour on the plane with visions of a hotel room, a meal that hadn't come out of a foil tray, a shower, fresh clothes, a comfortable bed to stretch out on and, if she were _very_ lucky, enjoy a brief nap on.

"Sorry, Eames," Bobby murmured from beside her. "We really need to go. Really." He suddenly seemed to remember what he was holding. "Uh… I got you this." He held out the most welcome sight she had seen in hours; a large white cardboard cup with a familiar green logo. She took a brief second to inhale the welcome scent, took a dainty sip, and nearly spat it out. She looked up at her partner accusingly.

"Bobby, this coffee has at least two sugars and double cream."

"I thought you liked it that way." He frowned.

"Yes, but you think it's terrible and call it 'cake in a cup', and you usually only ever buy it for me when you want to apologise or ask me for something really big…"

"Can we focus, please!" Sienna's voice was sharp, and Alex resisted the urge to glare.

"Sienna, I just got off the plane."

"Yes, well, a lot of things happened whilst you were _on_ the plane. Things that you need to know about, so can we please just get in the car?" Sienna was practically dancing on the spot, Eames noticed uneasily. What the hell had got her so rattled?

"Okay, yeah," she said, hoping her irritation wasn't _too_ obvious, and followed the two of them towards a waiting black SUV with a man she didn't recognise behind the wheel. Had she been in the States, she'd have instantly thought _FBI_. Since she wasn't, she wondered why they were being picked up by an MI5 agent. She could be wrong, but there was just something about him that shouted "domestic security".

"What's the situation?" she asked, once they were all seated in the rear of the SUV.

Sienna and Bobby looked at each other and apparently communicated without words, since Bobby spoke first and Sienna stayed silent.

"Eames…" He paused, then began again. "I was… contacted… by John Durham less than an hour ago."

For a split second she just stared at him. "What? Wait a second… we're talking about the same man here? Your…"

"Yes, Alex, my ex-boyfriend," Sienna replied sharply. "Let's get that out of the way now."

_What the hell is wrong with her?_ Eames thought, but her thoughts were interrupted as her partner continued.

"He claims that he's innocent," Bobby continued. "He says that-"

He didn't get to complete his thought, as the car pulled swiftly in to the side of the road. The driver turned round and said, "Did you say you'd been contacted by John Durham?"

"Bobby, you haven't told the police here?" Eames didn't- quite- shout, but her voice was nearly twice as loud as usual.

"Before I did anything else, I wanted to see with my own eyes that you were both safe," he replied calmly and quietly.

"You haven't reported this?" the driver continued.

Sienna leaned forward and fixed him with a glare. "No, Adams, we have not, and every minute you're not driving us to Thames House is another minute we're not reporting it, so get moving."

He shook his head. "I have to call this in." He reached for a radio handset beside the parking brake.

Sienna reached forward and placed her own hand over the handset, locking eyes with the driver. "No. You do not. We are going to report this in person to Ann Langford, and you need to get us to Thames House so that we can do that."

"Get your hand off," the man replied. "Every second counts, and I need to call this in now."

Sienna shook her head. "No, you don't. John will be long gone by now." She looked across at Bobby, who nodded. "You won't catch him, even if you get a squad car to where he was last seen immediately. I need to report this to Ann Langford first: it impacts directly upon MI5's operations, and if you have any sense of loyalty to-"

"I'm loyal to my job and my country." He reached for Sienna's small hand with his own large black-gloved hand, and her face went icy in a way Eames had never seen before. Her tone of voice, when she spoke, was almost cruel, one that Eames had never heard her use before.

"Well, you're certainly not loyal to your _wife_."

The man's face went an unpleasant shade of grey as he stared at her, goggle-eyed. Sienna continued in a softer tone. "Sorry, Adams. I really didn't want to say that. But you know, and I know, that you haven't been _working_ late over the past few months."

"You've got no proof."

"Just because I don't live in this country any more, doesn't mean I don't have sources. Nor that I don't have the telephone number for several of your colleagues, who'll no doubt be delighted to hear what use you and the department secretary have been making of the back seats of these cars. Can you get fired for that? You certainly would if you worked for _my _organisation…"

"You _bitch_," he replied softly.

She sighed. "I'm afraid so. Now put your foot on the gas pedal, and get us to Thames House. Now. And if you like having your job, you aren't going to hear any of what we say in the next ten minutes, and you _certainly_ aren't going to repeat it."

The man gave her a look of deep loathing, and pulled out into the traffic. Sienna released her grip on the radio handset, and settled back onto the leather seats, as Eames and Goren stared at her.

"You've done the same sort of thing yourself," Sienna said in reply to their expressions. "Now, can we focus on John? Bobby, what did you think?" Her expression was almost hungry, in a way that Eames found somehow deeply worrying.

"Think about what?" she asked.

Her partner exhaled sharply. "He claims he's innocent. He claims that he was working undercover without authorisation to get intelligence on the gang he was supposedly on the take from, and that's why MI5 thought he was corrupt… he wants his job back."

"He wants Bobby and me to go to MI5 and persuade them to trust him," Sienna added in a tight voice. "He's in contact with the gang he was supposedly working for, the Barayev branch of the Russian mafia."

"What he wants is… Both MI5 and the Barayev gang expect him to try to… get to… Sienna. Kidnap her, take revenge on her. His plan is that he goes along with that, but lets MI5 in on when and where it's supposed to happen…"

"…when it all goes according to how John describes it, that's proof that he's telling the truth. He comes back to a hero's welcome, tells us everything he knows about the Barayev organisation, and with luck and good timing, we can make a surgical strike that should close down at least half of their operations in London in one go," Sienna finished.

Eames stared for a few seconds, and sincerely wished she'd gotten more sleep on the flight. "How do you know he's telling the truth?" she asked finally.

"We don't," Sienna said simply.

"He didn't harm me, Eames," Bobby replied. "He could have, easily – he knocked me out – but all he wanted to do was talk."

"That doesn't prove anything," she pointed out.

"No, but there's at least the possibility that he's telling the truth," Sienna added. "And if he is… then this is an opportunity we can't pass up." Her eyes were hungry, a look Eames knew very well, the eagerness of the law enforcement professional when the opportunity to catch their prey suddenly appeared. "That's why I want to speak to Langford first."

"It's a pretty far-out story," Eames commented. "Undercover without permission? There aren't many people crazy enough to do that."

"Crazy, or determined, Alex," Sienna replied. "Do you know what John's nickname was? He got it after his team brought down someone they used to call the Invisible Man. He was an arms trader to the mafia, a major player. You name it, he could supply it, but he never left a paper trail. Everyone else had given up trying to catch him, but John just kept going. He wouldn't stop. After they succeeded in catching him, people started calling John "the Machine", because he never, ever, stopped, just kept going until he got what he was after."

"What if he's lying?" Eames pointed out, again.

Sienna shrugged impatiently. "We'll discuss that when we get to Thames House." _MI5's headquarters_, Eames reminded herself. "We're nearly there now." She pulled out her cellphone and placed a call. "Yes? This is Sienna Tovitz, Interpol Serious and Organised Crime, New York office. I need to speak to Ann Langford immediately. Yes, _immediately_."

Eames exchanged glances with her partner. For the first time in years, she felt awkward with Bobby. Sienna's presence was a sharp reminder that there was now an important part of his life that didn't involve her in any way, shape or form. It was not a comfortable feeling.

It was not that she wanted Bobby for herself. He was an attractive man, she would have been the first to agree, but he was her friend and partner, and she would never risk that. That did not, however, prevent her feeling just a little… _displaced_. She was not the only female with whom Bobby Goren had a relationship now, and she was still getting used to the knowledge.

She was still considering her options when the car swept into the basement of Thames House, passing through endless security checks before they reached their destination, an elevator in the basement.

Five minutes later, they were waiting in a large office for Ann Langford, the Operations Chief of MI5's Serious and Organised Crime Unit, to return from a meeting that had been hastily cut short once Sienna passed on the news about John Durham. Suddenly, the door opened, and Langford herself entered the room. A tall, heavily-built woman, she wore a navy blue trouser suit with low heels. Her greying blond hair was clipped back by a steel-grey barrette, revealing a face with one of the hardest expressions Eames had ever seen on anyone's face, including several major criminals.

_Imagine seeing that face every day_, she thought. _It's no wonder Davenport turned out like_…

"Detectives, Ms Tovitz," Langford said perfunctorily. "Thank you for reporting this to me first. Detective Goren, I need to speak with you first. Alone," she said, without bothering to face Sienna.

"We-"

"-will discuss this together, once I have the facts." Langford's tone was final, as her office assistant opened the door to a nearby small room with one table and two chairs visible, and gestured at Goren to enter. He exchanged a brief glance with Sienna, then rose steadily to his feet and joined Langford in the interrogation – no, it wasn't an interrogation room, it just _looked_ like one, Eames thought uncomfortably as the door closed. She stared at the door for a few seconds, then turned to Sienna.

"Sienna…" She paused, then selected one of the many questions she wanted to ask. "Do you think Durham is telling the truth?"

Sienna looked at her with an expression composed of equal parts hope, fear, and exhaustion. "I think he is, Alex. I hope he is."

"You _hope_ he is?"

Sienna closed her eyes briefly. "Yes. I'd like something good to come out of this whole sorry mess. I'd like to think that I wasn't completely mistaken about John."

"Sienna, you've said to me in the past that part of you always sensed that Durham was keeping something back from you. That when you heard he was corrupt – part of you wasn't surprised."

"Well, he _was_ keeping something back from me, Alex. If he was undercover without permission, that's a hell of a risk to take."

"Assuming he's telling the truth about that. He could be lying, Sienna. In which case-"

"In which case my life is in danger, Alex, yes, thank you, I know. I've known since I got the message that John was on the loose, though really, I've known for the past year, since John started his sentence, and I got to live my life in the happy knowledge that, sooner or later, his sentence would end and he'd be in 'protective custody'." She practically spat the words. "That's a joke. I thought I'd be safe in New York with Bobby, but I should have known… how else did John know where to find Bobby? I thought we were being watched at JFK airport, and I must have been right. He had someone watching me there, Alex. Watching for me, and watching for Bobby, and for you, so that he'd know when we left and he could wait for us here. That's the sort of man John is, Alex. He doesn't stop. Ever. And I'm not going to, either. I want this resolved so that we can live our lives, all of us."

"All of us?"

Sienna looked at her impatiently. "Yes. All of us. Do you know how worried I've been, thinking about Jack and Tanya, over here in the same country as John, with a baby on the way? But if John's telling the truth – if he really is innocent,' the hope showed on her face for just a few seconds, like sunlight through clouds, "then all that goes away, and we can just get on with our lives."

Eames sighed. She was not a woman to back away from saying uncomfortable truths, but this was one of those rare occasions that she really didn't want to say what she was about to. However, someone had to.

"What do you think Davenport is going to think about all this?"

Sienna's face transformed itself into a mask of rage. It was an unpleasant sight, and Eames was glad that her partner was not in the room.

"I could not care less what Drew does, or does not think, Alex. He got me shot, and, if John's right, it was for _nothing_."

_Wow, that's a change from "he did try to make it up to me, he was my friend", _Eames thought in slightly stunned silence. _What the hell happened? _Something had clearly changed in Sienna's feelings, but what had caused it?

She tried again. "Sienna… regardless of your personal feelings – listen to me! – regardless of your feelings about Davenport, he's an MI5 officer. He _must_ have thought there was good reason to think Durham was corrupt. Surely, he should be involved." _And I cannot believe I am having this argument_.

Still, _someone_ had to say it. Regardless of whether she liked Davenport as a person, or what she thought of his ethics, she had seen his intelligence and devotion to his job at first hand. She did not want them to lose out on the knowledge of the one person who knew the case against Durham better than anyone else because of Sienna's emotions, regardless of how justified they might be. Particularly not when the stakes might be as high as their lives.

"Alex, just because you saved Drew's life, don't start thinking he's a good person. I know you must want to…"

"This has got nothing to do with _my_ feelings, Sienna." Eames fixed the younger woman with her best "cop" expression, hard-faced and authoritative.

Sienna sighed very wearily, and Eames felt a surge of compassion briefly temper her increasing frustration at the younger woman's stubbornness. "Jesus, Alex, would it kill you to be on my side?"

"I _am_ on your side, Sienna. But it's not my job to be a cheerleader. I don't hesitate to speak out when I think Bobby isn't seeing the full picture, and I'm not going to hesitate to do the same to you."

"Oh, you don't think I'm seeing the full picture?" Sienna's glare was back in full force. Suddenly, she sprang off the couch and her hands flew to her belt buckle. As Eames and the office assistant (hiding behind her desk) gaped at her, she unbuckled the belt, undid her pants fastening and pulled them midway down her thighs.

Her suit jacket hid her panties, but it did not hide the puckered, messy scar on her left thigh. Some surgeon or other had tried to tidy it up, but there had been only so much he or she had been able to do, and even though it had largely faded from red to silver, it was still an unpleasant sight. Eames winced, imagining the pain, the burning sensation as the bullet tore through the skin and muscle, the shock as the blood loss started to kick in. (She tried hard not to think about what it must be like for Bobby, being reminded of one of the most painful incidents in Sienna's past every time the two of them were intimate.)

"This is the full picture, Alex!" Sienna's eyes locked with hers.

Eames took a deep breath. As the other woman angrily pulled her clothes back up, she replied as calmly as she could. "No. Sienna, I'm saying this as your friend as well as a detective with over fifteen years' experience. You know as well as I do that you're not thinking rationally…"

"Oh, I am thinking quite rationally, Alex," Sienna replied, more calmly than Eames had expected. "Let me tell you what I think. I think that if John is innocent, he deserves this chance. I think that if he's not innocent, then we should still do this, because it's our best chance of drawing him out, and I really, really don't want to go through the rest of my life expecting John to appear round the corner with a gun any moment. I want this over with."

"So, why not involve Davenport? Give yourself the best chance of…"

"Because Drew and John hated each other. They were only ever in the same room once, when we had a meeting when I first got there, about setting up the new taskforce. But I could feel it, Alex. They were polite, but they hated each other, it was instinctive. Drew won't listen to any of this, he'll just want to take John down, and to hell with anyone else."

"You're not giving him a chance, Sienna," Eames said, very gently. Truth be told, she was less concerned about Davenport's well-being than Sienna's. Aside from the fact that Davenport might well be privy to information they didn't have, she knew very well that, once the situation was resolved, Sienna would make herself miserable over not having given her friend an chance to defend himself-

"Drew lost any right he ever had to have me consider his feelings or his well-being when he lied to me for two years, Alex." Sienna's words were utterly cold.

-_or maybe not_. Eames sighed. _What the hell is going on, here? There's a part of this puzzle I'm missing_.

But she had no more time to think about that, as the door opened, and Langford and Goren emerged, looking grim but resolute.

Though she kept her professional face in place, she couldn't help thinking the worst.

_This has the potential to end very, very badly. _


	8. The War Room

"Can we get this over with?"

_Words to live by_, Alex Eames thought sourly, sipped her tepid coffee, and regretted it. It was not impossible to get good coffee in Britain, she knew, so why did the stuff she ended up drinking when she was here taste so vile? She set down the cup and tried to focus; not easy when your last sleep had been a few broken hours on a plane.

The faces around the table showed a mixture of professionalism, impatience, and, in Sienna Tovitz's case, anger mixed with determination. Uneasy, Eames glanced across at her partner, and was not reassured.

There had been times in the past when she'd allowed herself to wish that, just once, just for a few seconds, Bobby Goren could find out what it was like to be as uncertain as everyone else, to know what it was like to confront a situation where you didn't have all the answers. Now it was happening, and she wished it wasn't.

They were in a hastily-convened meeting of MI5 and Metropolitan Police officers, in one of MI5's seemingly-endless supply of grey meeting rooms. The intention was to discuss Langford's plan to accept John Durham's offer of cooperating with MI5 to bring down the Barayev organisation in return for his exoneration, with the proviso that they would be prepared in case he turned out to be lying. Those present were a mixture of the MI5 and police staff involved in trying to recapture Durham, and several officers from the counter-terrorism team. The latter had insisted on being present once they had learned that Goren and Eames were involved in this situation, rather than immediately joining their investigation into the City of London Stadium attack, since that was, after all, the official reason that she, Bobby and Sienna had been dragged over to England in the first place.

The round table and maps on the walls gave it a faint air of _Dr Strangelove_, except that in this case there was definitely fighting in the War Room.

The speaker was one of the senior police officers on the counter-terrorism team. Eames had already categorised him as a career police officer, who had probably made it to the top by through a mixture of sheer hard work and being more ruthless than anyone else. In counter-terrorism, this was not a bad combination, but it did mean that she and Bobby would have to be thoroughly on top of their game if they were supposed to be working with him.

"I'm sorry if you consider our attempts to resolve a potentially damaging situation in the best possible way a waste of your time, DCI Mills-" Ann Langford began, but Mills cut her off.

"Ms Langford. I respect you, and your organisation, but let me remind you that we did not request that Detectives Goren and Eames and Ms Tovitz come here to catch an escaped criminal. We asked them here because my team is trying to ensure that we've rooted out every cell of the Newcomers organisation and I want to ensure we've followed up every last lead. I do _not_ want a repeat of this summer's incident at the City of London stadium in which innocent people lost their lives because of the incompetence of the very people who were supposed to protect them-"

"None of us wants to see the loss of innocent life." Langford stated heavily. "None of us wants to see that, which is why this is an opportunity that we _must_ take. The information that John Durham is offering-"

"John Durham is an escaped criminal on the run who will say anything to avoid being captured. He was a disgrace to his uniform and to all those of us who wear it!" Mills was not quite shouting, but only just.

Beside him, DI Tony Maldon smiled faintly at her. She smiled faintly back, neither of them willing to risk being caught smiling at each other in a meeting of this seriousness, but she was secretly grateful. So far, Maldon was the only even vaguely friendly face they'd encountered. He'd caught up with them in the corridor whilst they were on their way to the meeting half an hour ago…

"Hello, you must be Detectives Goren and Eames." Maldon was a middle-aged man, around the same age as Bobby. He was a Detective Inspector, which by Eames' reckoning put him at a slightly higher rank than herself or Bobby, although he seemed to regard them as equals. He stuck out a hand. "Pleased to meet you, we're all very grateful that you're here."

_Well, you're the first person to _say_ it_, Eames thought, a tad grumpily.

"We hope you'll be able to help us, there are still several aspects of the stadium incident that need to be resolved swiftly."

From her partner's slightly distracted air, Eames had the distinct impression that she was going to be having this conversation on behalf of both of them. "Really? I had the impression that this was a mopping-up exercise. It was, what, six months ago? You've surely had the press on your backs hollering for blood…"

"Yes, but we usually do anyway, and we're used to ignoring it." He smiled tightly, and Eames could see that his shoulders were solid with tension, despite his outwardly relaxed air. _Interesting_.

"You're partly right," he continued. "We have thrown as many resources at this as we can, but we want to be 100% certain that we've followed up every lead. Your input as trained officers who were present at both the incident itself and the – well, let's call it an _unorthodox operation_ – beforehand will be invaluable."

"Assuming we're able to do that," Bobby's low voice almost made her and Maldon jump. Maldon's face looked briefly dismayed, but he hid it almost immediately.

"Surely both of you won't be needed for what's being proposed? I understand that Durham made contact through yourself, Detective Goren, so surely Detective Eames will be free to assist us, if nothing else. We really need at least one of you, it's absolutely essential…"

She felt rather than saw Bobby's slight twitch of surprise, partly because she was feeling it herself. Of course, now that it was pointed out to them, it was obvious. If they went ahead with accepting Durham's proposition, then she wouldn't necessarily be needed for it. If so, then regardless of what she might feel about being separated from her partner whilst his life could be in danger, it made sense for one of them to be doing the job they were actually supposed to be here to do.

It made sense. Of course it did.

_Oh great, I'm going to be the sideshow to the Bobby and Sienna Circus_, she thought with resignation.

…She refocused on the present and sighed wearily. Mills and Langford were still butting heads.

"If we make that assumption, DCI Mills, and John Durham is telling the truth, we not only lose an excellent police officer, we lose the chance to strike a crippling blow against one of the major organisations trafficking drugs, women and children into this country. I _will not_ see that happen."

She could see heads nodding around the table, but Mills wasn't done. "Your organisation was called in to investigate Durham." She could hear the resentment in his tone. "You thought he was guilty then, so what changed?"

"What has changed is that if Durham is telling the truth that he was undercover without telling anyone, then he deserves a second chance. "

"Another way to put that is that, if your staff were sufficiently incompetent not to realise what was going on! Where the hell is the lead officer who led that investigation, and why isn't he here?"

Beside her, Eames felt both Bobby and Sienna stiffen very slightly. Sienna's face narrowed slightly, whilst Bobby just looked resigned. _Here it comes_.

Langford fixed Mills with an icy stare. "Senior Intelligence Officer Andrew Davenport is on active duty and cannot be present."

"What on earth is so important that he can't be recalled to deal with this? We've got half the force out searching for Durham! Do I have to remind you that each of those officers searching for him is an officer we haven't got on the beat, where the public want to see them? Or assisting my team in gathering information that could potentially foil an attack, something we signally failed to do earlier this year?"

"The public want us to protect them from criminals. If Durham is not a criminal, then we need to discover that as soon as possible. May I remind you that, if what he says is the truth -

"-if what he says is the truth, then one of your officers made a potentially catastrophic mistake."

"A mistake that, if it happened, we intend to put right. Detective Goren and Ms Tovitz have already volunteered to assist us with this."

Mills snorted. "They're hardly impartial in this situation."

_Oh, this is going to be messy_.

"Their personal feelings are-"

Yet again, Mills cut Langford off. "-are extremely relevant, when one of the people involved used to be in a relationship with Durham, and the other happens to be her-" he paused, as if selecting the right phrase, "_current_ partner. You intend to rest the success of your proposed operation on their shoulders…"

Mills stopped speaking abruptly as Sienna rose to her feet, meeting his eyes. "You raise a good point, Detective Chief Inspector, and I'd like to take this opportunity to address it."

She turned slightly to face most of the people in the room. "I presume most of you know that I was involved in a short relationship with DI John Durham. I did not know of what was then considered to be his corruption by the Barayev organisation. As soon as I was informed of this by MI5, I agreed to work with them to obtain information that could be used to prosecute Durham. Working with MI5 Officer Davenport-" (could only Eames hear the faint snarl in those words?) "- I did just that, leading to his prosecution."

"His prosecution for _tax evasion_," Mills replied, leading to a slight ripple of bitter amusement around the room. "Not exactly the most successful operation ever." More silent amusement.

Sienna was not fazed. "I agree, which is why both myself and Detective Goren are willing to become involved with this in the interests of resolving this situation once and for all." She turned to face Mills. "You raise the issue of my personal feelings, Detective Chief Inspector. They are as follows. Either John Durham is innocent, in which case I wronged him, and the least I can do is make amends. Or he is not, in which case, I will do whatever is necessary to bring him to justice. My career may not be as long or as illustrious as your own – _yet_-" she smiled, and another ripple of amusement, this time less hostile, went around the room.

But I assure you that my commitment to justice and protecting the innocent are the only feelings motivating me in this case. I have no other personal feelings towards John Durham, except a desire to see justice done."

_Good speech_, Eames thought. _Didn't sound too practised, either_. Though she had no doubt that Sienna had to have drafted that in her head and run through it several times.

"And can Detective Goren say the same?"

"Yes, I can." Bobby Goren's voice rumbled through the room as he rose to his feet beside Sienna. They made a striking couple, she thought, and tried very hard not to feel pushed out.

"I can honestly say that, like Ms Tovitz, I- I want to see justice done." Bobby paused, selecting the right words. "I have served with the New York Police Department for over fifteen years." He allowed just a touch of steel to edge his voice. "My record speaks for itself. I have no personal feelings at all towards John Durham."

"Despite the fact that he drugged and kidnapped you?"

Bobby smiled suddenly, a quick flash of white teeth. "That was just his way of getting my- our- attention. He didn't do me any harm. He could easily have killed me."

"For all you know, he could be intending to kill both you and your- partner."

"We're both prepared to take that chance." He smiled again, more softly. "I support my partner in her decision. And I want to see justice done."

"This discussion has gone on long enough." Langford's voice cut across the room as Bobby reseated himself. "I intend to go ahead with this unless anyone can raise a convincing argument as to why we should not."

Her gaze scanned the room, skipping quickly over Eames, obviously not thinking that she had anything valuable to add.

_Yes, I've got a convincing argument. Maybe. I'm not 100% sure that Sienna isn't doing this to get back at Davenport for some reason I don't fully understand. I respect her, but in this situation I don't trust that her judgement isn't clouded, and I sure as hell don't trust the organisation that got her shot the first time to protect either her or my partner from someone who could well be a killer._

But she stood no chance at all of making that argument, not in a room where half the people present were MI5, and the other half wanted the meeting over with as fast as possible so they could get back to their jobs. The outcome was never really in doubt; no-one argued with Langford.

"If Detective Goren is not going to be present at our investigation, then I insist that his partner – his _official_ partner – be present. We need her." DI Maldon spoke calmly, although his hands fidgeted with a pen on the table, their knuckles white.

"Agreed. I suggest we take a five-minute break, then return here to finalise the arrangements." Langford looked around for dissenters, and found none. The meeting dispersed, generally in the direction of the bathrooms. Eames, having drunk two cups of the awful coffee whilst trying to stay alert, followed the general exodus and found herself in the same bathroom as Sienna, who looked exhausted.

She waited until the other women in the room had left and they were alone in the bathroom, then asked "How are you?"

"Fucking fantastic, Alex, what do you think? Sorry," Sienna rubbed her face with her hand. "Sorry, that was bitchy of me. I'm okay. A little nervous, but okay. I want this over with, and it soon will be. Thank God."

"Are you sure this is the right thing to do?"

"Yes."

"Sienna-"

"Alex, please. If you're my friend, stop questioning my judgement."

"As your friend – as your's and Bobby's friend – I'm not doing that, I'm only concerned to make sure that you're okay. I'm trying to help you, Sienna."

"And I appreciate that, Alex, but I can take care of myself, and so can Bobby."

"Yes. That's what concerns me. You're acting out-of-character-"

"What the hell do you mean by that? I'm doing everything I can to protect myself, and Bobby, and you, and Tanya, and Jack!"

"I notice Davenport's not on the list."

"Correct. He deserves everything that comes to him."

"You really think that? You really want to go ahead with this plan that's basically going to throw him to the wolves? He might have valuable information, Sienna. He might be able to help."

"I've had enough of Drew's help, and I don't give a shit about throwing him to the wolves. If he was right about John, he'll be fine. If he was wrong about John, he deserves what's going to come to him. I wish I'd never met him."

_Oh, you said that with far too much feeling for it to be completely true,_ Eames thought, with the benefit of long years of experience.

"Really? You've always spoken of him as being your friend, your mentor even, even with everything that's happened-"

"My mentor? Fuck no! No, Alex. Drew is not a model for me in any way whatsoever."

_Time to play hardball_. She knew it was risky, but she had to give it one last try. She fixed the younger woman with a hard stare. "Have you listened to yourself lately, Sienna? Collecting information on people's affairs to blackmail them with? Being willing to throw a friend to the wolves without warning them? Do you know who you sound like? Who you're turning into?"

Sienna returned the stare with interest and no backing away. _She really isn't intimidated by me any longer_, Eames thought uneasily. The first time around, Sienna had always been slightly nervous around Eames, both as a younger woman, and as one lacking the years of law enforcement experience that Eames possessed.

"You ask yourself this, Alex. Is there really any difference between what I did to get us here, and what you and Bobby do _all the time?_ You know as well as I do that the two of you make deals and threaten people all the time." She affected a bad imitation of Eames' own voice. "Tell us what we want to know, and we won't check your immigration status. Tell us what you know, and we won't look for the drugs we know you're probably carrying on you. Tell us what we want to know, and we won't check your tax records. You know it, Alex. You do this all the time!"

"Bobby and I are officers of the law, Sienna. We're empowered to make that kind of decision- that kind of trade-off between turning a blind eye – and we don't do it lightly, and only when we have to."

"And when Bobby takes someone to pieces, Alex? When he rips someone's psyche to shreds?"

Alex closed her eyes, chose her words, and replied: "Bobby and I do what we have to do, and we do that only – _only_ – when we don't have a choice."

"_I_ don't have a choice." Sienna's stare was hollow, and her words were flat. "I didn't ask for Drew to drag me over here and let me fall for someone he thought was a corrupt bastard so that he could use me as an informant without warning me first. I didn't ask for the love of my life or my dearest friends to be pulled into this. But believe me, Alex, I'll do _whatever_ it takes to keep us all safe." Her voice was bitter. "I'm trying to protect your life, too, or doesn't that figure in your judgement?"

"My life?"

Sienna spoke slowly and patiently. "I would do anything for Bobby. Bobby would do anything for you. Like it or not, Alex, you're involved, and the people John was involved with are going to see getting at you as a way that they can get to me. I'd rather you didn't die."

"You're paranoid."

This time it was Sienna who glared. "Don't lecture me on how to live and work in the world I live and work in, Alex. You know that saying, it's only paranoia if they're not out to get you? Well, they are!"

Eames was aware as she spoke that she was crossing a line, that her and Sienna's fledgling friendship might not survive this, but Bobby's life was too important not to take the risk. "What happened, Sienna?" she asked as gently as she could. "You've always defended Davenport to me. You've always tried to be fair and understanding. What changed?"

"What changed is that I've had to put up with my life being pulled every fucking which way but loose in the past half year. I can live with the fact I got shot. I can live with the fact my best friend – something I thought was my closest friend – betrayed me and split me and the love of my life apart. I can live with all of that if it turns out that Drew was doing it because John was corrupt. But if he put me through all that for _nothing-_"

"Without his being here to explain his decisions, how do you know? Why won't you give him a chance?"

She wasn't prepared for the hostility of Sienna's response. "After everything – after _everything_ he did, he doesn't deserve any chance. I've nearly lost Bobby twice now. I'm not losing him again because of Drew."

_Lost him twice? The first time was when she came to London… Does she mean when Durham kidnapped Bobby? Or maybe not – but if not, then what? _

"Your personal feelings are clouding your judgement." Eames said it as softly as she could, hoping to appeal to their friendship, to help Sienna avoid making a decision that she could regret all her life. The appeal went unheard, as Sienna's face went icy-cold, an expression that Eames had never seen her wear before. She looked uncannily like Langford.

"My personal feelings do not cloud my judgement, Alex. Like you and Bobby, I do what I have to do."

"Sienna, please, don't let your personal life push you into making a bad mistake."

"My personal life is none of your business, Alex. And nor is Bobby's." And with that, Sienna Tovitz turned on her heel and left.


	9. Interlude3: What Happened At Glastonbury

Interlude 3 – "What Happened At Glastonbury: Memories of the Past"

"We are _not_ camping near the toilets."

The dreadlocked young man Tanya was currently addressing looked slightly intimidated. As well he might, since Tanya was giving him a Level 2 hard stare. (Level 1 being "mildly annoyed", Level 3 being "you are going to do what I want", Level 4 being "you are going to do what I want OR ELSE", Level 5 being "stop pissing me off OR ELSE", and Level 6 being "Drew, stop being fucking annoying".) He shrugged.

"Suit yourself, then… there's not a whole lot of room left. If you'd got here yesterday…"

"Well, we didn't," Drew pointed out from behind Tanya, whilst the rest of us waited impatiently to go put up our tents and get in the first drink of the festival.

The man shrugged again and grinned. "Okay, suit yourselves, just camp wherever you can find. I think there's some room at the top of the field."

"Top of the field is fine," Tanya replied, grinned back, and commenced leading her troops up a dusty path up the site of our campsite.

"It's going to be a _looong_ walk from the tents if we need to pee in the middle of the night," I pointed out, memories of the last time I'd gone camping in Europe, way back before I joined Interpol, coming back to me.

"It won't be _that_ bad," Jack replied.

"Easy for you to say, you're a man, you can go pee in the bushes."

"Only if they don't get caught, SiSi," Tanya replied.

"Caught?"

"You're not supposed to piss on site anywhere but in the toilets, it damages the fields and poisons the stream. They have the Green Police-"

"-the Pee Police," Amp chimed in, snickering.

"-who go round stopping people doing it."

"How exactly do they do that?" I asked with a certain amount of worry.

"Run after anyone they catch doing it blowing whistles and yelling, mostly. And pointing, so we can all have a laugh," Drew replied. "Are we nearly there yet?"

"Hmm." Tanya paused and surveyed the ground. "Nearly…" She forged ahead, carrying her backpack as though it weighed nothing. "Hmm. Yes, here is the space for us." We trudged ahead and joined her in what looked like the only remaining patch of grass big enough for all of us.

"Kind of a walk," I murmured, looking down the field at the large white tent housing the bar and canteen, with the toilets and showers beside it. "Couldn't we just have camped a bit further down the hill?"

Tanya shook her head. "No, you never want to camp at the bottom of a field, it's asking for trouble."

_Lots of other people have_, I thought, looking at the spread of tents before me and resentfully eyeing the long walk down to the rest of the site. I decided it wasn't worth arguing about. Suddenly, an arm dropped lightly across my shoulders.

"Come on, cheer up," Drew smiled at me, one of his rare small smiles that always made me feel special. There were not many people he liked enough to smile at.

I smiled back wryly. "Sorry, I think I'm still dealing with the remains of last night's hangover." I poked him in the ribs. "Which I am blaming on _you_."

"Me? It's all my fault, suddenly? Did I get a funnel and pour the drink down your throat? Was it _me_ who said that one more before closing time wouldn't harm?"

"It was _you_ who bought me beer. You should never mix beer and wine. It's all your fault."

"I get the blame for _everything_ that goes wrong around here," Drew replied in a tone of injured innocence.

"Yes, because it's often your fault. You attract trouble," I replied, playfully punching his arm.

"And yet, SiSi, you and Jack and Tanni just can't seem to stop hanging around with me, hmm?" He grinned wickedly. "Admit it, you _like_ the sort of trouble I bring."

"I like the sort of _drinks_ you bring, and the first round is on _you_ tonight," I replied, and grinned back.

He squeezed my shoulders. "Hey, if that's what it takes to get you smiling… Did that tattoo come out okay?"

"Mmm…yes, actually." I'd almost forgotten I had it. I pulled up my shirt and pushed down my pants a little to show him. I really did like it, I thought, admiring the gracefully fluid lines of the lion Tanya had traced in henna on my belly.

"Very nice indeed," Drew replied, tipping his head to examine it more closely. He started to reach out a finger to trace along it, then stopped.

"Perhaps I should think of getting a permanent one," I mused aloud.

"Yeah, why not? Tanni and I both have."

"Really?" I frowned. I already knew that Tanya had tattoos – they covered half her back, so were hard to miss – but I hadn't realised that Drew had any. "Where's yours?"

He smirked. "Let's just say it's somewhere you wouldn't see unless you knew me _really_ well."

"How like you," I replied, and grinned.

"Hoi! You two!" Amp yelled from across the field. "Are you putting your tents up or not? You'll be keeping the rest of us from the bar, you lazy buggers."

"Don't be so bloody impatient," Drew yelled back. He grinned at me, kissed my forehead lightly, and went off to pick a suitable camping spot. I reached into my backpack and applied myself to figuring out how to put my tent up.

An hour later, I was sitting around a table in the canteen with everyone else, nibbling on some leftover fries. I'd been pleasantly surprised by the quality of the food, which was not bad at all considering it had been cooked in a tent in a field.

"So, what's the plan? Is there a plan?" Jack enquired hopefully. We debated back and forth, and eventually decided that we were all going to go out and have a drink together, then split up and go explore the festival site together. Mark knew someone who was camping out somewhere else on site, and who was having a campfire that night "with lots of beer, and his band's going to play".

"Count me in," Amp stretched cheerfully. "I'm gonna go change, get a few things from the tent. See you all back here in half an hour?"

We agreed, and the party split up, some of us trailing back up the hill with Amp, whilst the others stayed behind in the bar tent, having a quiet drink. As I followed Amp's broad back up the hill, I caught myself smiling unexpectedly. Well, why not? It was a gorgeous summer evening, with the sun setting slowly behind a nearby hill in a blaze of colour. I sniffed the air gently, catching woodsmoke, cooking smells, and grass on the breeze.

_What a great place this is_, I thought as I reached the top of the hill and paused outside my tent to stand and take in the view.

The festival site stretched before me. Seen from this angle, closer up, it was a beautiful sight in the golden evening sunlight, a sea of blue tents stretching out to the horizon, with here and there the odd splash of colour from one of the candy-striped beer tents, and the bright silver point of the Pyramid Stage in the distance. _I'm gonna be standing there soon, _I thought excitedly. Standing there with all my friends beside me.

_But not the one person I really want._

I forced myself to be in the present, admiring the view, absorbing the sheer spectacle of the Festival. Each of those tents represented, what… one? Two people, at least? My senses flooded briefly, thinking of all those different lives, all here in this place, a time cut out of everyday life. People eating, drinking, making plans for the night, making music, making love…

Before I knew it, I was back in the past, over a year ago. I closed my eyes, remembering another time when I'd had the same sense of viewing humanity from above, that same overwhelming, near-religious sense of being a part of something much bigger than me.

Another time, and another place.

***

"What time do we need to be there?"

Bobby's tone was just ever so slightly patient. "We've got plenty of time, we don't need to be there until two pm." _The same as the last time you asked_, he managed to not actually say, but I could swear I could hear it in his voice.

I forced myself to put down the coffee cup I was slurping from nervously. I always drank more quickly when I was nervous or fretting about something. _Which Bobby will have noticed_, I thought anxiously. _He always notices_.

But it was no good. I _was_ nervous, in two minds about the whole thing.

Part of me was yelling, _Are you mad? You haven't ever had chance to really see New York before, and you're going to go to the Empire State Building with your boyfriend, who bought you both an Express Pass so you can skip the queues, which is not cheap. You should be happy! _

Another part of me was feeling awkwardly like a kid being taken out by her uncle. The Empire State Building: could I _be_ any more of a tourist? I felt like I was acting like a school kid on her first trip out of state, like I was trying to tick off all the sights in the guidebook, sights that Bobby probably secretly thought were an incredible cliché. But the truth was, I couldn't think of anything else to suggest.

Fuck, I hated the age gap thing. I really, really hated it. Everything was fine when we were in bed. No, it wasn't _fine_. It was _fantastic._ It was not just that Bobby was good in bed, which he was. It was more that he was willing to let me try things out in a way that hadn't really occurred to any of my previous boyfriends had ever really thought of doing.

The idea of _practising_ sex had been a weird one at first. Until I'd met Bobby, I'd always wanted each time to be perfect. But Bobby had taught me that it was okay to try new things, okay for those new things to sometimes not work, and okay to laugh if it didn't quite work out (usually followed by the two of us just doing it the old-fashioned way, which was always enjoyable).

But get us out of bed, and what the hell did we have in common? I thought miserably. Bobby was the most fascinating man I'd ever met. Both professionally and personally, he was incredibly interesting, a wonderful listener, an excellent cook… so what the hell did he see in me? Other than the obvious. Not that I thought he wanted me just for my body, he was not that kind of man, but I had a horrible feeling that one of these days he'd give me the "It's been fun…" speech and leave in search of someone his own age.

"Sienna?"

"If you don't want to do this, we don't have to."

I stared at him open-mouthed for a few seconds. There were times where Bobby's near-telepathic ability to read minds left me feeling like I was completely transparent.

"Are you… I should have asked," he stuttered a little "Um… do you get vertigo? Is that…"

"No. No, Bobby, no. No, I don't get vertigo, I'm not scared of heights, at least not as long as there's a nice thick window between me and them…" I babbled.

We stared at each other.

"Sienna… what's wrong?"

"Nothing! Nothing is wrong. Absolutely nothing, so let's go and have a good day." I turned away and looked determinedly for my purse. Then stopped, as a very large hand gently caught the point of my chin and tipped my face up slightly towards Bobby's. I forced myself to look him in the eyes.

"Sienna…" He tipped his head on one side, which caused me a brief flash of irritation; I really hated it when Bobby looked at me like a puzzle he was trying to figure out. It made me feel like a suspect.

"Yes?" I snapped, then regretted it instantly. "Bobby, I'm sorry. It's nothing to do with you, okay? So let's go and have a good time."

He looked a little pissed off, and my stomach dropped. _Oh shit, now I've fucked up_, I thought miserably.

"Sienna…" He turned away, then turned back again, spinning on the spot, and exhaled sharply.

"Sienna…" Again his sentence trailed off.

"Um. Yes?" I prompted, when it became obvious he wasn't going to continue.

"Let me in."

He said that so quietly that I almost didn't hear it. "What?"

"What's going on in your head? I don't know. I can't figure it out. One minute you're fine, the next minute you freeze up and you're walking on eggshells around me and I have no idea why. What's wrong?"

My eyes met his again. Those beautiful dark brown eyes… So deep, and so full of life, and, right now, so confused, and it really hurt to think that that confusion was because of me.

I forced myself to the realisation that this was one of those moments of truth. _You had better be honest, Sienna, and if he does decide to ditch you because you're too young for him or whatever, so be it, but he'll ditch you for sure if you keep making him feel like this_.

"Honestly, Bobby?"

He nodded.

"I'm scared. I'm scared because I don't know you very well, and sometimes I have no idea what's going on in your head, either. And right now," I took a deep breath, "right now I _really_ want to go to the Empire State Building and see New York from the Observatory with you there, but I don't know if it's what you want to do, or if you're just being nice to me and secretly you think it's a total cliché or whatever, and you want _me_ to let you _in_, but half the time you don't tell me what you're thinking! I mean, okay, you talk to me about places you've been and things you like and people you know, but it's all- stuff for public consumption! You don't tell me what _you're _thinking. I mean, don't get me wrong, I like Detective Goren lots, but I want to know Bobby Goren too, and he keeps hiding from me! And also-"

"Sienna!" That was the first time Bobby had ever sounded really annoyed with me, so I shut up for a few seconds, then rallied and added: "Well, you wanted to know!"

He jammed the palms of his hands against his eye sockets for a few seconds, then dropped them abruptly and looked at me. _This is it. This is the "this isn't going to work" moment, _I thought, and braced myself, and swore to myself that this time around I wouldn't cry until I was _outside_ his apartment.

Suddenly, he snorted. I looked at him, incredulous, and realised something astonishing.

He was smiling. Not a big public smile, or a toothy confident Detective Goren smile, but a little private smile.

"Do you realise, that's the first time you've ever been annoyed with me?" he asked softly.

"I think it's the first time you've been annoyed with _me_," I pointed out. We looked at each other for a few seconds, then Bobby crossed over to the kitchen counter I was leaning on, settled himself beside me, and tentatively wrapped a friendly arm around my shoulders. I accepted it, then leaned against him, enjoying the comfort. We stayed silent whilst both of us tried to decide what to say next.

"Sienna?"

"Mmm?"

Bobby sighed, and it was a Bobby Goren sigh. Not a Detective Goren at the end of a long day sigh, just a confused male sigh. "I like you a lot. I really do mean that."

"Why? You don't have to answer that if you don't want to," I added hastily.

He smiled wryly. "For all the reasons that I think you're nervous about. I like the fact that you're younger than me, but that you've seen enough of the world that you get what I'm talking about. I like the fact that you've travelled and you're open to other ideas and other cultures and you're really interested in what I have to say. I like the fact that sometimes you tell stories about driving through ex-minefields in Bosnia when you were with the Peace Corps, because it explains the way you drive the rest of the time…"

I glared at him, and he laughed and stroked my cheek. "You're a fascinating person. I don't know if anyone's ever told you that." He paused, swallowed, then added, "_I'm_ lucky to be with _you._"

I snuggled my head on his shoulder a little more. "Wow."

"Mmm."

We hugged some more, then I plucked up the courage to ask: "Bobby… Please. Tell me what you _really_ think about us going to the Empire State Building together."

He looked at me with the classic male face of "Are we _still_ talking about this?" It actually cheered me up to see that. There were times when Bobby could be so frighteningly smart and ahead of the game that I forgot he was human as well.

I reached out and dared to stroke his cheek. "I can't read minds like you. So you have to tell me what you're thinking."

"Honestly?" He smiled. "I'm thinking that I love my city, Sienna. I could earn more working as a profiler somewhere else – you know that and I know that. The NYPD doesn't pay that well, but I'm honoured to serve here. That may not be a fashionable thing to say, but… it's the truth. And I want to show you my home, and I want you to have a great day with me, and I really, really, don't want you to spend it worrying about what I'm thinking. So promise me you won't."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay. I promise."

"Sienna…" Bobby half-said, half-sighed my name, and, suddenly but gently, wrapped both of his arms around me. I wrapped mine around him, and snuggled in. It felt _wonderful_ to be held by Bobby, to feel the faint rhythm of his heartbeat against my body. He stroked my back, gently, lovingly. Normally by now one of us would be reaching for the other, hands exploring with practised skill to find sensitive areas of flesh that would make one of us gasp in pleasure and rub harder against the other, working ourselves up, but this time that didn't happen. We stayed in each other's embrace, eyes closed, and when our lips met it was almost by accident, a tender, sweet, gentle kiss, a caressing of lips.

We pulled apart and looked each other in the eyes. I felt a deeper connection between us than ever before and knew that Bobby felt it too, and that if we went to bed, this time, it would unlike any other…

I smiled softly at him. "I think I want to go and see the Empire State."

"I want to go see that too." He smiled back, and released me. Our connection would keep until we returned home that evening. There was no rush. It would last.

***

_But it didn't_, I thought sadly, back in the present, watching and shivering slightly as the sunlight began its slow fade over the first night of the Festival. Bobby was not part of my life any more and would never be again.

_The past is the past, Sienna_, I reminded myself. _If you dwell in it, you'll make yourself miserable_.

From further down the hill, I could hear Drew calling, "SiSi! Are you coming, 'cause we're going!"

I sighed, closed my eyes, and forced them open again with determination.

My friends were calling me, and I needed to go. If I no longer had Bobby, at least I had them, my dearest friends who would always look after me.

_Go forward into the future_, I thought, closed the tent behind me, and skipped down the hill to join the party.


	10. Unspoken Words

He ran over the plan again in his mind.

They'd spent hours debating whether they could trust Durham or not, but in the end, the prospect of putting the Barayev organisation out of business with Durham's information was too tempting. As the debate had worn on, it had become increasingly obvious that DCI Mills was a lone voice in the wilderness, with most of the personalities involved dividing into one of several camps. Firstly, the police officers who thought "he was one of our own, give him a chance". Secondly, the police officers who thought "he was one of our own, give him a chance and let's see if we can make those smug bastards at Five eat crow for a while for getting it wrong".

Thirdly, the officers from both the police and MI5 who thought "Any chance to take down a major trafficking organisation is one that should be seized with both hands".

And fourthly, he suspected, the hopefully very small minority of officers from both organisations who thought "any chance to take down a major trafficking organisation is one that should be seized with both hands, and if the people whose lives are at stake happen not to be our own staff… well, that's not such a bad thing".

He really hoped that Anne Langford wasn't one of those, but he suspected she might be. She had been utterly adamant that Andrew Davenport could not be recalled from duty. With the result that, as Eames had pointed out as tactfully as possible, that when he came off-duty, he was going to walk back into MI5's office to find one of his major cases being re-examined with a view to determining whether he'd been negligent.

Langford's face had struck just the right combination of determination and concern as she replied that the situation simply did not allow for Davenport to be recalled. "I don't like to believe that one of my officers could have been negligent. However, if Durham was undercover without permission..." She'd shrugged. "He was an excellent officer. It's not impossible, much as I hate to admit it, that we might have been wrong, that he might have hidden himself undercover so thoroughly that we were fooled into thinking he was corrupt. If so, that wrong should be righted without delay."

"And without giving Davenport the chance to defend himself?"

Langford's expression had gone just ever so slightly steely; anyone other than Eames would have been daunted. "I appreciate your concern for someone whose live you saved, Detective. But we have bigger things at stake. This situation isn't of our making; we must simply take advantage of it as best we can." The finality of her tone indicated that the subject was closed to further discussion.

Of more concern to Bobby Goren that the fate of Andrew Davenport, however, was the interplay between the two women in his life. He'd spotted some tension between Sienna and Eames before their break, mainly in the form of short unhappy glances (on Eames' part) and tight-jawed resignation (on Sienna's). Since they'd come back from the break in the middle of the meeting, however, both of them looked slightly as though they were sucking lemons. He'd have liked to have thought that it was entirely down to the situation, but the fact that they kept exchanging reproachful (Eames) and angry (Sienna) looks indicated it wasn't.

_I thought the two of them_ liked_ each other. Half the time they team up to bust my ass like they're old friends, and now they can't look at each other. When did my life become so complicated?_

"Detective?"

He looked up swiftly, covering for his lapse in concentration by frowning at the notes he'd been scribbling (in reality, random thoughts in German) as if he'd been trying to work out what to do next. "Hmm?"

"I believe we're nearly ready for you to make the call."

_Oh shit, yes_. Durham had made it pretty clear that Goren, and Goren alone, was to make the call to inform Durham as to whether they'd accepted his offer.

"It's decided, then. You're going to accept Durham's proposal?"

"Yes. We are."

And with that, the meeting dispersed. Suddenly, he realised Alex Eames was going in the wrong direction, following some of the officers… and then it hit him fully; she wasn't going to be joining him and Sienna. She, he and Sienna had originally been called to London to assist the team investigating the stadium attack earlier that year. Since he and Sienna were needed to bring in Durham, Eames was the only one of them left to do that.

Sienna had thought it an excuse to bring them over to be used as bait to tempt Durham out of hiding, and perhaps there had been an element of that, but evidently there was a real need for their information. Of course, they'd discussed that during the meeting, but it hadn't really hit him until now: if Eames had to assist the anti-terrorism team, he was going to be without her for however long it took to set Durham's plan in motion, and carry it through.

Oblivious to how it might look to others, he hurried off down the corridor after her, leaving Langford and Sienna standing staring at his back in the room.

"Eames! Eames, wait up."

She paused, and he saw her shoulders tighten for just a second before she turned round. He could see the tension in her jaw beneath her professional face, and wondered if he was now as transparent to her.

"Good luck, Bobby."

"You… you too." He halted, staring at her. She stared back.

"What…" He wasn't sure what to say. "What happened?"

"I'm sorry?" Eames' voice was both wary and weary. He hated that. Hated that his partner sounded that way to him.

He got closer, so that they could talk with less chance of being overheard. "Eames… something happened back then. Between you and Sienna."

She looked at him, and he read the answer in her expression. "You'd better get going, Bobby – there are people behind you wondering where the hell you've gone." She turned to follow the investigation team down the corridor.

"Alex!"

She whirled on the spot and stared at him.

"Please tell me what's wrong?"

She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. "Nothing… nothing, Bobby, nothing serious. Just…" She paused for breath. "Just, it seems as though this is very personal for Sienna, and I'm concerned about her. And about you."

He reached out and gently grasped her arm, aiming to reassure. "Okay. I'll watch out for that. Trust me, Eames, I don't have any intention of getting either of us hurt."

She grinned at him, her usual tough-cop grin. "Yeah. I'll remember that when I'm sitting on my ass in a nice warm office whilst the two of you are off running round London in the cold."

"I'm sorry, Eames."

"It's not your fault, Bobby, okay? I'll be fine. You worry about you."

They smiled at each other, and in a more private situation, he would have hugged her, but couldn't, not in MI5's offices. Her face screwed up into her familiar Alex Eames determined smile, and then she turned, and was gone.

***

**Interlude 4**: "What Happened At Glastonbury: From the Sky to the Ground".

I quickly scurried down to the bottom of the campsite to join the others, all of whom looked like nothing so much as a bunch of excitable teenagers. For a minute, the sheer ridiculousness of the situation hit me. Here we were, hanging out at a festival in a field like a bunch of hippies, and I guess to anyone else we would have looked like just another bunch of old-enough-to-know-better, young-enough-not-to-care festivalgoers. To me, though…

I looked at our little group and wondered what the other happy campers in the Festival would have thought if they'd known that our little group comprised one ex-soldier and black belt martial arts expert (Tanya), one prize-winning journalist (Jack), one Interpol officer (me), one MI5 agent (Drew), one part-time mechanic and pub cook (Amp, probably winning the prize for the most normal occupation), and several police officers of varying degrees of seniority (Leo, Mark, and most of Leo's team).

_Probably run away in fear_, I though mordantly. _Or at least muttered "Shit!" and started getting rid of suspicious "cigarettes" and "headache pills"._

"What took you so long? Let's go," Drew remarked, and hurried off to catch with Tanya (leading the group, naturally) without waiting for a reply. We filed steadily down the hill, through the security gate and out into the festival proper. Everyone else had already set off, so I was left jogging along behind trying to catch up, an ongoing curse if you happen to be only 5ft 5in. As at most such events, it was a long walk through the camping and backstage areas to the parts of the Festival where the shops and stalls were, and I spent most of the walk trying to keep up whilst at the same time marvelling at the tattoos on Tanya's back.

Not that I wasn't familiar with them to some extent, having seen Tanya naked in the changing rooms a few times, but that situation didn't exactly lend itself to detailed examination. Now, however, she was taking advantage of the warm weather to show off the ink decorating her skin with a nearly sheer mesh top and backless bra. (Or so I assumed. She had no bra strap across her back, and I doubted that even Tanya, even at the Glastonbury Festival, would go braless with a top _that_ transparent.) I had no tattoos myself – the thought alone made me wince – but even I could see that they were remarkable pieces of work.

She had several tattoos, some of which were from her Army days, but the three most prominent were the warrior goddesses. On her lower right back, the lion-headed Egyptian warrior goddess Sekhmet turned her head towards the onlooker with a ferocious glare. On her upper left back, occupying most of the back of her shoulder, the Hindu goddess Kali danced madly, eyes wild and tongue lolling. Beside Sekhmet, a fierce woman in Celtic armour with a sword in hand and raven upon her shoulder decorated the other side of Tanya's lower back. I'd always wondered who that was. On impulse, I decided to go up to her and ask.

"Hey, Tanni?"

"Yup?" Tanya finishing swigging water from a bottle, and handed it back to Jack. Who, I couldn't help noticing, was hardly able to take his eyes off his wife in her skin-tight transparent top and tight black jeans. Despite the fact they'd been together for over two years, it was obvious to anyone who knew them that the honeymoon was still very much not over.

I felt – well, not jealous. I didn't want them _not_ to be happy. I just wanted to have what they had with someone who happened to be mine, and I didn't. Or rather, I'd had it and lost it.

"Who's that?" I pointed to her back. "I keep meaning to ask."

She chuckled. "That's Andraste. She's a Celtic warrior goddess, Boudicca used to pray to her before she went into battle."

"That's… not totally a good omen," I pointed out. My grasp of British history wasn't that thorough, but even I knew that Boudicca's Revolt had ended in defeat at the hands of the Roman army.

Tanya snorted. "True, but that's not Andraste's fault. You'd have needed divine intervention to defeat the Romans back then, and trust me when I say that doesn't happen on the battlefield. I thought I should have something to reflect my roots. Mind you, for all I know I might be half-Egyptian. Not small enough to be Indian, though… Hey, where are you lot going?"

Mark and several of the others paused in their march off down one of the side paths. We were in the Festival itself now, the Dance Field, and surrounding by the music thumping out of the three huge marquees that sat at the ends of the field. Between them thronged a mixture of shops, food stalls and bars, the latter two pumping out a steady scent of fried onions and beer.

It was the night before the Festival really started, and you could almost taste the happy excitement in the warm night. Before the big acts took the stages tomorrow, now was the time to roam about, to explore the site, to stumble across the bar with the tiny band playing which consisted of two guys with guitars and one of their girlfriends on vocals, which you'd remember stopping to listen to every time you looked back on the Festival, but whose name you'd never remember, assuming you'd heard it at all.

"We're off to see Johnny's band, they're playing at a bar over near the Acoustic Stage."

I consulted the map hanging round my neck. "Wow, that's a bit of a walk."

"Worth it though, music and cheap beer!" Mark grinned. "Are you coming?"

I hesitated. "Umm… I want to, but I kind of want to see some other bits of the Festival first, so I know where we're going tomorrow." (I still had no idea where the bar we were supposed to be working in tomorrow was, but I was trusting that Tanya would sort that out.)

"You want to go for a bit of a wander, hmm?" Tanya grinned beside me. "Sounds like a plan."

"Well, you guys can join us later. The bar's right next to the Acoustic Stage, I can't remember what it's called, but you've got my mobile number, right?" Mark asked.

I was vaguely aware that he was looking at me quite intently, and that this might be… well, not a date, since there would be six other people present, but a sort of "let me buy you a drink somewhere we don't normally go and get to know each other better" type of invitation.

_You should take it,_ my "sensible" voice muttered to me. _Mark's not a bad guy, and you need to start getting out there again_.

_Yeah. But he's not Bobby. And he doesn't deserve to have a whole evening trying to chat up someone who is looking at him thinking not "You're a great guy" but "You're not Bobby"_.

Still, I shouldn't be rude. And besides, Drew would be there, and if needs be I could always buy him a drink and talk with him for a while. The thought cheered me up. "Yeah, I have." I patted my cellphone. "You guys go, and I'll walk round here for a while with Tanni and Jack, then come over and join you."

"Sure you won't get lost?"

"Yeah, I can manage," I replied (untruthfully since I had no idea where the hell anywhere was in the Festival, but fuck it, I had a map).

"Sure you don't want to come with us now? It's easy to get lost…"

"Mark. I'm a big girl. I can get myself there, I'm sure. See you in a while."

Mark seemed to sense he'd pushed far enough and backed off with a faintly disappointed smile. "Excellent, okay, see you later. To the beer!" he yelled at the rest of the guys, who cheered enthusiastically and followed him down the path and out of sight.

Tanya and I snorted with laughter. "Men will be boys," she commented.

"Oh yeah. Are you coming for a wander?"

"Maybe… Jack?"

"I fancy a drink and a smoke. See you in fifteen?" He gestured at a nearby bar which consisted of a stall selling drinks and some tiny wooden tables with candle lanterns flickering softly. People were sprawled around on the grass smoking and chattering peacefully.

"Um…" Tanya hesitated for just a second. "Uh…"

I patted her arm. "I really don't mind exploring on my own if you and Jack want to go have a drink, I know you've seen it all before… shall I catch up with you here?"

Tanya smiled. "Yeah. If you don't mind."

"Course not." I smiled back and headed off to explore the stalls, threading my way through the crowds to see if I could find the interesting stuff hidden behind the £1-a-camera, herbal highs, henna tattoos and other assorted tat stalls. Since Jack had put the idea in my head, I decided that I felt like a drink, and set that as my goal. What could I find that wasn't beer?

Suddenly, music drifted out towards me, an old cheesy 80s disco track that made you want to just throw your hands in the air and dance like no-one was looking. And people were. As I got nearer the source of the sounds, I realised they were coming, not from one of the bar tents, but from a wine stall, a large white catering van with a huge model wineglass helpfully perched on the top. The owner had stuck some flashing lights and a ghetto blaster on top of the counter and turned the volume all the way up, and a crowd was dancing in front of it, both boys and girls - and some men and women, at least half of them were old enough to be my parents - spilling wine on each other and dancing badly with huge grins on their faces. Clearly, this was to be the drink for me. I wandered across, bought the largest glass of red wine they were selling, and allowed myself to be dragged into an impromptu boogie to "Dancing Queen" with two guys with dreadlocks.

This was more like it. This was the carnival atmosphere I'd been looking for. As I danced, I suddenly realised, no-one knew where I was. Not one person on the planet Earth knew exactly where I was right now, not my parents, not my friends, no-one. I could vanish. If I wanted to, I could stay here all night and dance with strangers. I could wander freely and go where I wanted, I could walk right out of the Festival and keep going, and no-one could find me. The thought was weirdly exhilarating.

I'd had a truly shit year so far. I'd started it having been shot, and ended the past six months of it by giving evidence to put the man responsible away. Which wouldn't have been so bad, except that he was my ex-boyfriend.

If there's one thing worse than standing up in court being cross-examined about the events leading up to you being shot in the leg and needing the sort of physiotherapy where you have to take painkillers before, during and after, it's standing up in court giving that evidence knowing that every single other person in the court knows that you used to sleep with the person you're giving evidence against, and is just waiting to hear the defence lawyer start dropping snide hints about how, just maybe, you might be a jealous unstable woman out to wreak havoc in the life of the man who broke up with you and your injuries were your own fault for meddling in things you had no right to get involved with. Because, obviously, when a woman sleeps with a man, her brain automatically stops working.

I realised that the guy I was dancing opposite was looking a little unnerved, and smiled quickly. The song ended, and the crowd began to disperse. I decided that I'd danced enough, and set off in search of more interesting experiences.

_Bobby would have loved this…_

Yet again I found myself in the grip of the past.

I was on the observation deck of the Empire State Building, and _awestruck_ wasn't too strong a word. I was lost for words. I'd known the views would be amazing, but nothing could have prepared me for seeing the city I'd been living in for barely a few weeks from up in the clouds. I almost didn't know where to look next; should it be over there, at the Chrysler building, over here, looking out towards Staten Island, down there, where I was sure I could just glimpse the deli Bobby and I had gotten an early-morning coffee and bagel in (though common sense said that that was impossible and I was imagining that I could see that far down)?

Beside me, Bobby was going through the guidebook, reading the more fascinating parts aloud. "The Empire State is designed to act as a lightning conductor for the surrounding area and is struck by lightning over 100 times a year… you're not listening, are you?"

That last part was said in a playful tone of voice, and I turned around and grinned. "I am listening, honestly… it's just…" I tried to find the right words, shrugged expansively, and settled for exclaiming "Wow!".

Bobby grinned back. "Now, are you glad you decided to be a tourist?"

"Oh my gosh, yes." I spun back to peer out of the window again. "I can't quite believe it, but, it's just… it's amazing, Bobby. Thank you."

He smiled, a really heartstopping Bobby Goren smile that managed to make the wonders of the Empire State recede into the background for a good few seconds. "You're welcome. Want to hear some more amazing facts?"

I grinned mischievously at him. "No, I don't. Don't get me wrong, it's fascinating stuff, but I don't want to hear about the guidebook. What do _you_ see? What does Bobby Goren see when he looks at New York?"

"Wow." Bobby tipped his head on one side and regarded me for a few seconds. His face settled into thought. After the silence had lasted a good few seconds, I decided to prompt him with a smile and an encouraging nod.

"It's… It's kinda tricky to say. Um."

_Oh, I've done it again. Said the wrong thing._

So, time to say the right thing. "I'm not asking for every single thing, Bobby," I said gently. "It doesn't have to be everything you see. Just something. What can you see from here that matters to you?" _Stupid question, _I thought as I said it, _the answer's "Ground Zero", like for every New Yorker._

"Well." He walked across to the window, placing his hands upon it and leaning forward, almost pressing his nose to the glass. I joined him, following his gaze.

"I see so much, Sienna, that I don't know where to start." He smiled wryly. "This… this is my home. Where I'm from. I suppose… I can see where I grew up, or at least see where it is…" He pointed in the general direction of Brooklyn. "I see the place I left as soon as I could. I see where my mom lived… where my dad used to live, before he died."

I held my breath. This was the first time Bobby had ever really talked about his family. "And your brother? Where does he…"

Bobby cut me off. "Wherever he can."

Suddenly, he turned from me and almost sprinted over to another window. I followed as fast as I could. "And here… over here, that's my office." He smiled teasingly at me, and pointed to One Police Plaza (or at least in its general direction). I chuckled.

"All of this…" He gestured widely with a sweep of his hand, taking in the city… "It's mine, I suppose. My city. I…" he shrugged and looked embarrassed. "I do what I can for it."

I took his hand. "You do so much, Bobby. Really. I admire you."

Our eyes met, with no barriers between us. I had a sudden, powerful urge to be alone with Bobby. We didn't speak for a good half minute, and when Bobby spoke his voice was low.

"I'm not perfect, Sienna. I'm…" He chuckled wryly. "A bit of an acquired taste."

"I'm acquiring it," I said lightly. "I care about you a lot."

"I care about you, too."

I closed my eyes. I'd never heard Bobby say that so plainly before.

I felt a large hand close over mine, very gently, then Bobby's arm wrapped around my shoulders. "I can see something else from up here, as well…"

I opened my eyes. "What's that?"

He led me over to another window and pointed. "Can you see over there? That state, over there in the distance? That's Connecticut." He smiled at me. "That's something new I see. I see the place I found you."

I reached my hand up and caressed Bobby's large hand, on my shoulder, leaning my head against his broad chest. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_," he murmured softly, and wrapped his arms around my waist.

"I want to be with you, Bobby," I murmured softly, but without any of my usual sense of urgency. What was between us was real, and lasting, and it would keep.

And it did. We stayed at the top of the Empire State for another half hour, wandering around hand in hand and making sure we saw all the sights. Then we left, and went home, and made love in a way that had never happened between us before. It was as though all the previous times had just been practising for this one time, when we communicated without words and without having to show off or try things out or stage what we did. It happened so naturally that I was lost for words, because it had never been like that for me before, and, looking into Bobby's eyes, I thought that perhaps it was the first time like this for him, too…

_But Bobby is gone. _Bobby Goren, the love of my life, was no longer part of it, and never would be. Back in the present, I missed him desperately. I missed the closeness and the friendship and the sex and everything.

I did not believe that everyone had _only_ one soulmate; there were surely many potential partners out there. Having known Bobby, what I truly feared was that life is short and that we only meet people who could be real, true, partners for life once or twice. I feared that I'd met mine and lost him, and who knew if I'd meet another? Maybe that had been my chance.

Enough with the wandering, and brooding, I thought. I needed to stop dwelling on the past and get on with my life. Besides, I'd finished my drink, so it was time to hit the bar. I wandered back slowly towards the open-air bar where I'd left Jack and Tanya.

It was so beautiful, I thought as I got near and saw the little flickering lights of the lanterns. It was completely dark now, and someone had gone around and lit up some little white paper lanterns fluttering on slim metal stalks, like glowing flowers in between each table. How could anyone not love the Festival? I bought another drink, then picked my way slowly through the tables until I saw Jack, who was sprawled on his back with an empty glass beside him, and the happy smile of someone for whom the world had just gone mellow.

"Heeeeyy, SiSi." He smiled and waved, and made no effort to get up. The remains of a rolled-up cigarette were stuck between his lips. I sniffed as I got closer, and realised the reason for the mellowness.

"Isn't that a _little_ bit risky?" I teased gently as I sat down beside him.

"Mmm… yeah, I guess so." He giggled. "It's okay, I smoked most of it over there…" He gestured loosely at several trees near the edge of the bar area, and I noticed that his accent seemed to have gotten thicker, more obviously Scottish. "Me and half the bar… hee hee." He chuckled, then suddenly looked serious. "Och, hang on, do you get tested at work, like Drew? Shit. I'd better put this out." He swiftly stubbed it out on the tin, then fastidiously closed the tin and tucked it into his pocket, then flopped back onto his back, still smiling merrily.

"Where's Tanni?" I asked.

"Gone for a pee. She'll be gone a while." He smiled at me. "Are you having a good time, SiSi? You okay?"

I smiled back. I really liked Jack. Having him around was a bit like having an older brother. The nice kind of older brother, who would look after you on your first day at school, agree to pick you up from your friend's house party at twelve so that you didn't have to suffer the ignominy of being collected by your parents, and who, if he saw you crying, would hug you and tell you it would all be okay in the end and that you should never forget you were special.

As opposed to the sort of older brother I actually had, who would steal your lunch money and threaten to smash your favourite toys if you told Mom and Dad, laugh when people at school called you names, and sleep with your best friend on prom night, then ditch her the day after for being "too clingy".

Fortunately, that was in the past, and I didn't ever have to talk to Richard beside the obligatory politeness at Thanksgiving and Christmas unless I chose to. I settled down beside Jack, flopping out on the grass and staring at the stars. I so rarely got to see them these days. Living in London meant that they tended to be drowned behind the street lighting, but here they were pin-sharp.

"Mmm? SiSi?"

"What? Oh, yeah." I turned my head and smiled at him. He smiled back, his light brown eyes soft and gentle. "Yeah, Jack. I'm okay. I have you guys."

He reached out and gently rubbed my cheek with the back of his hand, then let it drop back down onto his belly. "Good. That's really good. You deserve that, SiSi. All of us… we care about you, you know?"

"I care about you too." I stared peacefully at the stars some more. "I guess I should think about making a move if I'm going to catch up with the others… Drew's probably wondering what happened to me."

Jack frowned. "Oh no, he won't be."

"Huh?"

"He didn't go with them, didn't you hear him saying? When they left he was going to show Brian where the festival's gay scene is."

Brian was the other gay guy in Tanya's dojo, I remembered. Both he and Drew were out, although in Brian's case a lot more discreetly than Drew (not difficult). I felt suddenly and unexpectedly disappointed. "There's a gay scene at the festival?" I asked, trying to cover my feelings.

"Oh aye." He snorted. "And if there wasn't, Drew would probably start one."

"I thought he was going to go with the others, go listen to Mark's friend's band…" _…with me._

Jack smiled a little bit wryly. "Well, SiSi… I think we all sometimes forget that, well, Drew's _Drew_. He's gay and we're not. Sometimes he wants to be with other people like him, be himself for a bit." He snorted with laughter. "Chase a few young men, get in a quick one round the back of the bar, knowing him."

"Yeah." I was surprised how much it hurt to be reminded that there was a whole area of Drew's life to which I was definitely not invited.

Jack and I stared at the stars some more. I closed my eyes for a few seconds, feeling the earth beneath my back, the faint warmth of Jack beside me, the faint smell of male body… It was not an unpleasant scent. _Tanni's so lucky_, I thought, opening my eyes a crack and smiling to see Jack peacefully watching the stars, his ribs gently rising and falling.

Jack was the sort of man you hoped you'd find, but secretly feared would already be taken. He was only a few years older than me, but radiated the content happiness of a man who had not only achieved everything he wanted in life, but was also old enough and wise enough to realise just how lucky he was to have it. "I'm so fucking lucky to have Jack," Tanya had once told me, and I'd had to agree. He might not be the handsomest man I'd ever met, or the tallest, but he was once of the best.

_Not to mention that, according to Tanni, he's pretty good in the sack, too_. I stifled the thought as unworthy, but it was a little hard not to remember it when Jack was sprawled in the grass beside me wearing only a thin white cotton t-shirt with his glasses tucked into the neck, a pair of faded denim shorts, and sandals. I could see the outlines of his body through the thin cloth. Tanya had once confided in me was that one of the things she liked most about Jack was that he was "just _perfect_, SiSi, he's gorgeous, everything's in proportion…" and she was right from what I could see.

He was one of the few men I'd met who was about the same size I was, which was probably what made him appear small and slight, but, closer to, you could see that he was broader through the shoulders than Drew. He wasn't muscular, nothing like Tanya, but he was healthy, neither fat nor skinny, and his arms and shoulders were strong from riding around on his bike. His hands were strong too, quite broad and powerful-looking, and his face was nice to look at. Like Drew, he wasn't classically handsome, but his intelligence and good nature showed in his quick expressions and warm smile.

_What would it be like?_ I thought. _It's just a thought, after all. What would it be like, being with someone my size? _Tanya had already told me, before I stopped her going into detail, that Jack was "sweet… really sweet and thoughtful… but he can be a little tiger, too, sometimes when he gets going it's just like being…"

I'd stopped her there, since Jack was her husband and I had to look him in the face on a regular basis, but right now I couldn't help wondering what she'd been going to say. It was normally hard to picture Jack, usually the sensible one of the four of us (and about the only person who could persuade Drew out of his crazier ideas), being wild in bed, but seeing him now, all rumpled hair and rucked-up clothing, the inch's gap between his shorts and T-shirt showing a flat pale stomach with a thin line of dark brown hair running down it, it wasn't so hard to picture.

"You okay there, SiSi?"

"Jack! That's at least the third time you asked!" I pretended to be offended, pulling a mock-outraged face. He giggled.

"Sorry… whoa. I'm not used to this any more. I'm getting old."

"Yeah, me too. I swear I'm getting a bad neck."

"Here." Jack hauled himself from fully- to semi- supine, reached across and rubbed it lightly. "You spend way too much time on computers and sitting at a desk, it's not good for you."

"Oh Jack, I never knew you cared."

He snorted and lay down again. "Yes you do." He fell silent, contemplating the stars again. I flopped back down beside him, realising I was a little bit closer than last time when I felt his bare arm against mine. I reached over and patted his arm. He smiled and gently covered my hand with his.

I turned my head and noticed that his face really wasn't so far from mine. Only a few inches. What did Jack kiss like, I wondered? I'd seen him and Tanya kiss any number of times in public, but I'd only once seen them kiss for real, a stolen glimpse of the two of them making out outside a bar when Drew and I had gone off to find some food and a cab ride home. I shivered a bit, feeling a peculiar mixture of discomfort and fascination at the memory of Jack's mouth fastening on Tanya's. Everyone assumed that Tanya was the dominant partner, that Jack did whatever she said, but from what I remembered, Jack had been pretty damn enthusiastic, one of his hands at the back of her neck, the other on her back, pulling her close to him… That would feel pretty good…

"Hey, guys."

For once in my life I was glad that I was sufficiently drunk (and possibly mildly stoned from pot fumes) that my reactions were dulled, since otherwise I would probably have leapt about three feet up in the air at the sound of Tanya's voice.

"Oh, hey, Tanni!" Jack sat bolt upright, smiling hugely, my hand falling off his arm with a quickness. "Where were you?"

"I stopped by the bar to get a drink for my favourite husband." She dropped down onto the grass beside him, and held out what looked like a small cup of whisky. Jack took it and sipped eagerly, then leaned over and kissed her mouth delicately. Tanya's tongue flicked out over her lips, tasting the liquid.

"Thank you, though I am also your only husband, unless you've got another one I don't know about." Jack pouted, and she laughed and cupped his cheek. "Oh no, sweetheart, you know you're the only one for me…" She leaned in and kissed him again with enthusiasm. Jack dropped the cup and wrapped an arm around her, leaning into her body and pressing up against her, dropping one of his legs over hers and hooking her legs against his. I could swear one of his hands was cupping one of her breasts, although maybe that was just my imagination since I couldn't exactly see.

_Ooo-kay_. "Uh, guys, get a room?" I said in what I hoped was a _just-kidding_ voice, not a _could you maybe not make out in front of me?_ voice.

Tanya detached herself from Jack long enough to leer at me over his shoulder. "Don't know about that, but we might find a few trees or something like that…"

I took the hint. "Okay, I'll, uh, go join Mark and everyone and see you guys later…"

"Yeah, SiSi, you do that…" she mumbled, then fastened her mouth back on Jack's with a finality that dismissed me completely. I picked up my cup, drained the remaining dregs of wine, then trudged off in a vile mood. How rude was that?

_How often do you think that Tanni and Jack wish they didn't have you and Drew always tagging along? They _are_ husband and wife, and maybe sometimes they really wish you'd get your own life and give them some of their free time back to spend together._

I paused briefly, and frowned. Yeah. Well. There was that. Maybe I should be grateful for Tanya not _actually_ telling me to piss off…

_Maybe you should be grateful that she didn't spot that you were thinking of MAKING A PLAY for HER HUSBAND._

And that thought was enough to stop me in my tracks.

Oh shit.

I wouldn't have, would I? I was sure I wouldn't have, that I'd have stopped myself.

Oh fuck, I hoped so. What if I hadn't? Oh Christ. The best-case scenario was that I'd have made a pass, Jack would have gracefully turned me down, and acted awkwardly around me ever after.

The worst-case scenario was that I'd have made a pass, Jack would have turned me down, and he'd have told Tanya, who would have killed me, and I'd have lost my three best friends, since I doubted Drew would have stuck around if I'd tried to wreck his best friends' marriage.

No, scratch that. The worst-case scenario was that I'd have made a pass, Jack, being mildly stoned, mildly drunk, and male, would have responded, and that the two of us would have had to live with what we'd done for the rest of our lives, probably permanently screwing up his marriage and my chances of thinking of myself as a decent human being again.

No, scratch _that_. The absolute, absolute worst-case scenario was that I'd have made a pass, Jack would have responded, and Tanya would have caught us both when she returned from the bar. In which case, we'd both have been dead.

Oh, Jesus. What was wrong with me?

_What do I do now?_ I thought despondently.

_I want to go home_.

I screwed up my eyes as the thought hit. I really, really wanted to be just about anywhere else right now, anywhere other than a field miles away from anywhere, surrounded by people I didn't know, with all my friends off having fun without me.

_Yeah, but where is my home?_ Where indeed? The crappy apartment in London I barely spent time in, other than to sleep? My parents' house? Maybe. I loved my parents dearly, but going home meant encountering Richard and his second wife, both of whom I intensely disliked. Besides, there was nothing for me there, not any more. If I wasn't going to join the rest of the family in the oil trade, I had no business going home. The apartment I'd once shared with my beloved Bobby? Not any more, not ever again.

The closest I had to home was Jack and Tanya's house, and right now they didn't want to see me.

_You should go out. Go join Mark and the others. _

I knew I should, but I couldn't face having to trek halfway across the site, find somewhere I'd never been before, find Mark and the others, and pretend to be sociable when it was absolutely the last thing on Earth I wanted to do.

I sent a text message to the guys to let them know I wasn't coming, making up an excuse about not feeling too great and going to bed, then started to trudge off back to the campsite in that particularly unpleasant state of mind known as "all of my friends are getting laid and having fun and I'm not".

_I could get laid_, I thought morosely. I could go out into the Festival right now, maybe change my head and head back to Mark and the guys and go party, pull a random stranger and have sex in a tent. I could do that every night of the Festival if I wanted, and maybe when I was younger I would have done.

_Yeah, but more because you felt like you ought to do that, than because you actually wanted to_. And right now, I really didn't want to sleep with someone I didn't care about, and in any case, in my current state of my mind I was unlikely to achieve the mellow anything-goes-damn-I'm-horny-you'll-do state of mind necessary to actually get aroused enough to have sex with someone I didn't know.

I trudged back to the campsite, found the bar volunteers' campsite bar, and medicated all my problems with a triple vodka. On top of the wine, that did the trick. I staggered off, found a toilet, pissed, then staggered back to my tent and didn't so much fall asleep as pass out.


	11. Different Paths

Chapter Ten – "Different Paths"

_MI5 Heaquarters_

_Thames House_

_London_

_1.13am_

"When you're ready, Detective." Langford's voice held just a hint of impatience. He could sense impatience among the other four MI5 officers in the room, although unlike Langford they were not actually senior enough to suggest he should get on with it. Specialists in communications, tracking and personal protection, they were there to attempt to track Durham's location (though Goren privately doubted this was possible, and suspected that Langford, too, thought it a long shot) and to assist in planning what would happen next.

But for any of that to happen, Goren had to place the call to Durham. He regarded the telephone again. It should really be black or red, part of him thought. It seemed somehow wrong to make a call like this from an anonymous beige plastic telephone, the sort you might find in any office anywhere…

_You're stalling_. And he was, he knew. Partly due to tiredness. He had been awake for far too long to function effectively, apart from the half hour when he'd been knocked out by whatever drug John Durham had used to render him unconscious. Perhaps that was also responsible for the faint feeling of nausea hanging around in the top of his stomach, or possibly that was just the situation.

He was aware of Sienna's eyes on him, probably the only person in the room who really understood what this meant for him. Once he made the call, he committed both of them to a risky path where the exact details of the possible endings were uncertain, but one thing was clear; there was a strong possibility that their lives were at risk.

_This is your last chance to back out, Bobby_, he thought to himself, and closed his eyes, aware of how it would look, but not caring. _Is this the right path? Sienna thinks it is, but do _you_ trust John Durham? _

_No, I don't, not completely. No-one does. But Sienna's right, we can't live with this situation unresolved. If John Durham _is_ lying, if he really was corrupt, then he's got the potential to be even nastier than Nicole Wallace, and one psychotic nutjob after one of us is more than enough to contend with… And if he isn't lying, then he's the victim of a miscarriage of justice, and I need to do what I can to put that right. _

He opened his eyes, picked the phone up smoothly and tapped in the number Durham had given him. It rang seven times, _just enough to make me start wondering if I've left it too late, get me off-balance… or perhaps he just didn't hear it the first time. _

"Hello. Who's calling?"

"It's me."

A chuckle on the end of the line. "I haven't got a voice analyzer with me, so… tell me your name. Prove it."

"Detective Robert Goren, Major Case. We last spoke in Gram Central."

Another chuckle. "Fine, I believe you. I've not got long, so let's keep this brief. By the way, to the spooks who I'm guessing are listening in on this, you can try to trace this call, but I wouldn't bother, since this phone is going to be thrown in the Thames as soon as we finish speaking. I'm in London, you can have that for free. Goren, who else am I talking to?"

"Uh… Anne Langford, Senior Head…"

"Oh, I know Anne. Sorry. _Ms Langford_. I'd like to say it's a pleasure, but given what you and your attack dog did to me, it really isn't."

"You have yet to prove that we did anything wrong," Langford pointed out icily. "So far, we've seen not a shred of evidence that your story about going undercover without permission is anything other than an intricate lie."

"And yet, you're talking to me, which means you either think there's room for doubt, or you're willing to take a gamble on it, on the chance that I might be telling the truth." Goren could hear the smile in Durham's voice. "Well. I'd say, trust me, but that would be a waste of my breath, so I'll repeat what you already know. I can give you intelligence on the Barayev organisation that can help you put half of them away for life. With what I know, you can _cripple_ the bastards. I think we all want that, including Sienna, whom I'm guessing is listening in on this too? Sienna? Are you there?"

Sienna smiled tightly. "Yes, John, I'm here. I'd preferred to be called Ms Tovitz, but I'll let that go."

Durham laughed softly. "Oh, you don't change. Well, I hope you have a bit since the last time I saw you, since you were writhing around on the floor holding your leg with that bastard Davenport trying to stop you bleeding out. I told you that manipulative little shit was trouble. By the way, I'm guessing he's not there, since I've been talking for at least a minute without having someone call me, what was it, 'a bleeding cancer on the face of law enforcement'? 'A tumour in uniform?' Or was it-"

"Get to the point, John. What do you want us to do?"

"Simple. You and Goren go visit your friend, Tanya Simmons. Nice area she and Jack live in, I always thought that. Bit of a walk from the Tube, though, through all those streets. Lots of chances for someone who didn't like you very much to make a move."

Goren felt rather than saw Sienna's slight wince. As she opened her mouth, he half expected her to protest against being used as bait again…

"Tanya's pregnant. Can we leave her out of this?"

"'Fraid not, sorry. That's what I've told them, you see. I mean, I was _useful_ to the Barayev gang. They owed me, and I'm cashing in on that favour. I kept my mouth shut in prison, despite that f- Davenport's best efforts to get me to talk, so they broke me out. I gave them useful information, so they owe me a favour…"

"…which is revenge on your ex-girlfriend and her new partner," Goren completed the sentence.

"Yes. It works, you see? I don't need to explain why I want to get revenge on the woman who put me in prison in solitary confinement. I don't need to explain why you'd go visit your pregnant friend who you haven't seen in months. All perfectly plausible, don't you agree? So, tomorrow afternoon, heh, no, later today, even, you go visit Tanya, just the two of you. Make it six o'clock."

"And what happens then?"

"They'll be waiting for you by the corner of Joicey Avenue and Kells Lane. You know the one, it's where the flower stall used to be, and there's a little side alley that leads from there out onto the main road. Small alley, but it's big enough to hide a van in."

Durham's voice was flat. "There'll be six men. Sorry, Ms Langford, they won't have direct ties to the Barayev gang, they'll be local muscle for hire, but you can probably nab them for theft, assault, well, you name it. They'll jump you."

"And what happens then?"

Durham laughed. "Well, that's up to Five! I'm telling you now. That's how it will happen. It's up to you to get everything in place to make sure you don't end up in that van, but I'm sure with Five's resources that shouldn't be too hard." His voice suddenly went hard. "I could play this for real, if I wanted. The two of you could be in that van with bags over your heads and your wrists cuffed to the floor. But I don't want that. I want back in. I want you to catch the bastards."

"And what happens then?" Langford asked crisply.

"Again, very simple. What happens when everything unfolds just the way I said is that at seven pm tomorrow, precisely, I want to walk right back in to Thames House and tell you everything I know. Then I want my old job back, hopefully with a bit of compensation for the year I've just spent at Her Majesty's Pleasure. Oh, and if you could fire that incompetent bastard Davenport, I'd like that too, very much. But I don't think I need to worry about that, since if he's not there, I'm thinking that you've got your doubts about him, too, hmm?"

"Davenport is on active duty. That is the sole reason for his not being present. Thank you for your information, Mr Durham."

"I never really have got used to the Mr… So, that's what's on the table. I'm putting my neck on the line. I can't speak to you again after this, they'll get suspicious if I keep sneaking off to make phone calls on my own. I'm taking a hell of a risk here, since I'll have to get away from the people I'm supposedly working with and make my way to you afterwards, since they'll figure out pretty quick who tipped you off. I need to know now, are you all in?"

They looked at each other. Langford and Sienna both nodded grimly.

Goren spoke for them all. "We're in."

"All of you? Si… sorry, _Ms Tovitz_? Ms Langford?"

"I accept your proposal. I will see to it that Goren and Tovitz are adequately protected… and, if you are telling the truth, I promise I will do everything in my power to rectify what was done to you."

"Yes, John, I'm in. But this had better work."

"Oh, Sienna, you never did have any faith in me, did you? Well, this time I might just surprise you." His voice changed abruptly. "I've got to go. Remember, six o'clock tomorrow, Kells Lane and Joicey Avenue, and I'll see you all tomorrow at seven. Goodbye for now." He cut the call.


	12. Errand Girl

_Counter-Terrorism Joint Task Force (MI5 / Metropolitan Police) _

_MI5 __Headquarters, Thames House_

_London_

_1__1.30am_

***

"Detective Eames, what do you think?"

_What do I think? __I think that I wish I'd had a lot more sleep, somewhere that wasn't a crappy bunk bed. I think that, damnit, I miss Bobby. I hope he's alright. And I'm severely concerned that Sienna seems so driven by the urge to exact revenge on her former friend that she could put both of them in jeopardy. And, much as it pains me to admit it, I think that not involving Davenport in this is a) stupid, and b) unfair to him. And – this is the really important point – I hate the fact that I'm kicking my heels here whilst I wait around to get the call to go join up with Sienna and Bobby for this half-assed plan to see if John Durham is a) telling the truth or b) a corrupt, dangerous, bastard. _

Out loud, she replied: "I think that, based upon the evidence, it's risky to assume the Newcomers knew anything about what actually occurred in the City of London stadium. I don't think they were ever intended to be more than a smokescreen for the real operation. It was planned with military precision; they were a bunch of fanatical amateurs".

DI Maldon, who was chairing the meeting, conceded the point and turned his gaze back toward the table in front of them all, where some of the key evidence gathered about the events at the City of London Stadium earlier that year was spread in front of her. Not all of it – that would have required several rooms – but the parts dealing with the sequence of events which she, Bobby and Sienna had been involved with, both before and after the fatal day. Presently, they were dealing with the intelligence they had pertaining to the "Newcomers" group, the small organisation of radical Islamic students used by the man behind the terror plot, Mikhail Andropov, as a smokescreen for his own plans to attack the stadium.

Eames sighed. She knew her thoughts were unprofessional, and that she had the reputation of the NYPD to uphold, but, truth be told, that was all that was keeping her from falling asleep in the meeting. Fortunately, she had managed to snatch a few hours' sleep earlier that morning courtesy of DI Maldon, who had taken charge of her as soon as the meeting had concluded, ushering her to a small dormitory room within the cavernous interior of Thames House.

The accommodation was about the same standard as that at One Police Plaza, which was to say nowhere near as comfortable as the hotel bed she'd been dreaming of, but more than adequate for a short rest. Far too soon, though, he'd gently awoken her and informed her that they were due to start, apologising for being unable to let her rest for longer, but, time was of the essence… She'd dragged herself awake, made herself presentable (Maldon had magicked up a towel and some basic toiletries, probably borrowed from one of his female officers) and headed on into yet another meeting.

For professionalism's sake, she made herself sit upright, appear concerned and eager to help, but realistically, what they were talking about could have been done over a video link. As a dedicated police officer, she was happy to help, but she just wanted the whole thing to be over with, so that she could go back home in the knowledge of a job well done, and enjoy Christmas with her family. At present, she was seated around a large circular conference table, along with several other police officers who had been working in and around the stadium that day. They were answering a series of questions on how the events of that day in July had unfolded. Eames understood the principle behind it; they were trying to recreate the events as best they could.

All of them had, of course, been interviewed earlier, shortly after the dust had settled, before memories started to become unreliable, and the data had been fed into an impressive computer simulation by the Metropolitan Police's equivalent of the NYPD's Crime Scene Unit. She had not let it show on her face, but she had been rather disturbed by the accuracy with which the software had recreated the stadium and the events that had occurred; it had been like travelling back in time.

They had warned them before starting that it might be a traumatic experience. Eames had privately scorned that at the time – they were all experienced officers, after all, not rookies – but she knew now that they hadn't been joking. Having to watch it again and again, checking every last detail, answering question after question about where they had been, where the terrorists had been, how long it had taken before the roof collapsed completely… it was not a pleasant experience, and even worse for having to do it on her own with no Bobby or Sienna present to share the burden.

She understood why – Bobby was the one Durham had chosen to make contact through, and Sienna had to be present because of her history with Durham – but she secretly rather resented the irrational feeling that she was simply there as an appendage to Bobby. Particularly when she was missing out on a lot of the festive events she'd been looking forward to. The timing made relatively little difference to the British officers, of course, most of whom had not yet gone on leave for the festive season, but it was desperately annoying for she and Bobby, whose plans had had to be rearranged at short notice. She tried hard not to think about the family meal she would miss tonight, and ground her teeth.

If Bobby had been there, or even Sienna, it would have been a different matter. They could have kept each other going, laughed bitterly at the ridiculousness of it all and made plans to meet for food and / or a drink or two later. As it was, she was stuck here on her own. Maldon, who was chairing the meeting, caught her eye and smiled. She guessed that he'd seen her attention wandering, and forced herself to look bright and interested. He smiled more widely for a brief second, and she suddenly wondered if he was as tired of the long meetings as she was. Finally, the session ended, and everyone dispersed to get some refreshments. Everyone else, of course, knew the building far better than she did. She stood there for a few minutes, feeling lost, then Maldon walked over to her.

"Do you fancy getting some lunch together?" He smiled. "I'm afraid the cafeteria's not up to much, but if you like I can get my secretary to find us some half-decent sandwiches from the deli over the road, and I have fresh coffee in my office."

"Real coffee? Not out of a vending machine?"

He smiled. "I wouldn't serve a New Yorker anything less."

"Lead me to it."

Fifteen minutes later, she was sitting in Maldon's office, chewing on a turkey, stuffing and cranberry sauce sandwich, washed down with sips of mineral water and a latte (a _latte!_) from the machine in Maldon's office. They were chatting idly about the case, about their careers… he'd been in the police for twenty years, and, as he put it "have got about as far as I'm going to go, but I'm happy with it", and was looking forward to retirement. When she'd remarked that he seemed a little young to retire, he'd smiled sadly and remarked "My wife's not well", and left it at that.

"So, do you think we'll have everything here concluded by tomorrow?" she asked.

"Keen to get home, are you?" He smiled. "I don't blame you… I hope so."

"You hope so?" she asked, in what she hoped was a tone of polite interest, and not a tone of _"you intend to keep us here for HOW LONG?"_

"Well…" he pulled a slightly regretful face, "as ever, we're a bit understaffed. I mean, you know what it's like in the Christmas season – the crime rate rises just as half the force go off sick with flu…" She nodded in agreement "…so, I am trying to get everything here closed up, but it's taking a bit longer than I expected. There's still a few leads I'd like to follow up, make sure we have everything covered before we start the prosecutions… actually, I was wondering if I could enlist your help?" He smiled apologetically.

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, as I say, we still have a few leads to follow up. It's mostly just background work, interviewing people who personally knew members of the Newcomers group. To be honest, I don't think we'll find anything now, but I'd like to be thorough. It's mostly just going to addresses, knocking on doors, asking if they knew the people we're interested in… Routine police work, but it's better than sitting in here on our arses looking at computers."

She smiled wryly. "I hear you, but don't you have officers already working on this? I don't have a warrant card to interview people on your behalf – I'm not a member of the Metropolitan Police or even a British citizen, doesn't that give you legal problems if I turn anything useful up?"

"Oh, I can take care of that – we have arrangements in place to allow police officers from other countries to occasionally act as sworn officers whilst you're over here. It has its limitations, but it's acceptable for basic interviewing and information gathering. Really, I only need someone to find out if this person is still living where we last heard of her and if she recognises any of the people we're interested in; anything more than that, and you can call me and I'll get one of my officers to come and take over. It's a little bit creative but-" he pulled a wry face "- it should work, and I'd like to get the result. As for people working for me…" he pulled another wry face. "I do have a team, but the problem is that I've only got two female officers, and one's just told me that she's pregnant and needs to be confined to desk duty."

"Why is that a problem… oh, wait. Let me guess, some of these leads are Muslim women?"

"Yes, and from what we've heard, from very traditional backgrounds. They aren't going to be receptive to my sending white male officers round to their doors to talk to them alone, but a female officer in civilian clothes would be more acceptable."

"I'll think about it."

Maldon suddenly looked nervous for a second, but only a second, and then his face was calm, so calm that she thought she must have misread his expression. "If you would, I'd be very grateful. We should be finishing up here soon, and then you could do it… it would really only be an hour's work, just a short home visit."

"Okay, okay!" She grinned. "Let me think."

As they headed back in, she reflected that she was quite tempted to help Maldon out. Admittedly, she wouldn't have Bobby with her, but it would be good to do some police work whilst she was over here that got her away from an endless succession of meeting rooms, arguments and paperwork. Not that she didn't enjoy the intellectual challenge of solving puzzles with Bobby, but she had never been the type of officer to enjoy riding a desk. Right now the chance to get some fresh air and do some actual physical police work seemed like an opportunity dropped from heaven.

Then she remembered that she'd have to clear it with MI5 first, and her spirits sank. As if her thoughts had drawn him, the Five liaison officer she'd been appointed suddenly appeared in front of her, apparently out of thin air.

"Ah, Detective, I've been looking for you," the young man remarked, rather pompously, as though he'd been searching the building for her rather than having walked a few paces down the corridor from the meeting room they'd been in earlier.

"Well, here I am," she replied with a rather fake smile.

"I need to ask you to do something. Would you be willing to go and liaise with Tanya Simmons-McAllister about what we expect to happen later today?" Though phrased as a question, his tone made it sound like more of an order.

"You mean, would I go and meet her and talk about it?"

"Yes, exactly." He nodded decisively. "I mean, obviously, we've sent someone over there this morning to brief them on the mechanics, but… Frankly, we need someone to go and explain to her that, well – this won't be the occasion for _heroics_. We don't want her and her husband…"

"…getting in the way?" She smiled sweetly. _Those "heroics" helped saved the lives of thousands, you jumped-up little windbag. _

"Yes, that's it exactly."

"And you think she'll listen to me?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Ms Tovitz tells me the two of you became friends whilst you were over here? The intelligence we have from John Durham-" his mouth screwed up a little as he said the name, as if he'd just tasted something bitter "- is that he specifically asked his contacts in the Barayev organisation-" again the screwed-up mouth "-to snatch Goren and Tovitz. You're not the target, so they won't be interested in you. It's too unsafe to send Tovitz, and a visit from one of our officers could trigger suspicion if they were observed. You're the most appropriate choice. I mean, we don't need you to explain all the, ah, nuts and bolts of the operation – just discuss it with Mrs Simmons-McAllister, sound her out a little, ensure that she understands the importance of leaving it to the professionals…"

_Oh, so now MI5 are deciding what I'll do? Patronising bastards._ She stomped on the thought as being unworthy. It was a reasonable thing to suggest, and it would get her out of the office, even if it wouldn't be as worthwhile (or as much fun) as assisting Maldon.

"You're sure this is safe?"

"Oh yes. We have their house under surveillance. The operation isn't scheduled until 6pm tonight, and our observers report no sign of untoward activity, no-one in the area. Besides, in any case, the It should be perfectly safe. You're armed, of course?"

"Yes. Very much so." She smiled a little, watching him shift nervously.

"Okay, yes, I'll do it."

He sagged a little in relief. Looking at him closely, Eames guessed from his obvious youth that he had to be new to the Service, and was probably oscillating between the arrogance that his training had imbued him with – all spies secretly thought they were smarter than everyone else – and the uncomfortable realisation that she had been doing her job before he'd even graduated high school.

"Marvellous, thanks. The car is outside."

She blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"We really need you to do this now. DI Maldon tells me that they won't really need you for the next part of the meeting anyway."

She forced herself to smile professionally. "Okay, I'll go now – but I don't think I should take a car. It'll look odd if I take one of your cars to visit a friend when I'm just supposed to be going on a friendly visit."

He frowned. "Hmm…"

"Trust me, I've done this before."

"Okay, well… yes. I agree."

"I'll take the Tube." Before he could change his mind, she was already heading for the door, her cellphone in her hand, ready to call Tanya's number.

As she approached the door, she was waylaid by Maldon. "Um… I hear you're just going out…"

"I have an errand to run," she said, and hoped her irritation didn't show in her voice. She was pleased to be going to see Tanya again, but these weren't the circumstances she would have chosen.

"Of course, of course. Um… listen, I really would appreciate it if there's any way you could help me." He looked suddenly desperate.

"I will if I can," she replied, and his face suddenly lit up.

"Really? That's great. Fantastic. Ah, here's my telephone number-" he handed her a piece of paper "-perhaps you can call me if you get a spare moment."

_Jesus, they must really be short-staffed if he's that desperate._ "Of course. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a train to catch."

As she headed out of the door, mentally reviewing the events of the past 24 hours, she mused wryly that she had never expected to find herself defending Andrew Davenport to Sienna Tovitz. Usually it was the other way around. She certainly didn't particularly like Davenport, especially not after having several evenings in bars with Sienna, during which the conversation would inevitably get round to the topic of "why did Drew do that to me?", and she would listen sympathetically (with just the occasional wish that Interpol would find Sienna a therapist who was actually good at their job, so she could move on and that she, Eames, wouldn't have to keep listening to her going on about it).

Partly, she supposed, it was the fact that she'd saved his life, and there was always the wish for someone whose life you'd saved to turn out to be a good person, or at least not a bad person. More pertinently, whatever she thought of his personality, attitude or morals, Davenport was an experienced MI5 officer and knew more about the circumstances surrounding John Durham's fall from grace than anyone else.

In the privacy of her own head, she'd often wondered whether Sienna had become so close to him because, let's face it, there was just a _slight_ similarity to Bobby there. What was it Jack McAllister had told her about the two of them? _". She and Drew were nearly inseparable, in fact I used to think that if he was straight… anyway…" _Bobby was nowhere near as callous as Davenport, but the two of them probably weren't too far apart in terms of intelligence and cunning.

That being the case, she was deeply uneasy at the thought that this operation, an operation suggested by a man who was still technically an escaped criminal, was going ahead without the benefit of Davenport's knowledge or judgement. Sienna seemed hell-bent on getting even with him, and with all their lives at stake, that could prove a fatal error.

She thought sardonically that at least she herself was safe. _All the way over from New York to run errands for MI5 and the Metropolitan Police_. She shook her head. _Life sure takes you to some strange places_.


	13. Chips and Talk

Chapter 13 – "Lightning McQueen"

As she walked around the corner towards Tanya and Jack's house, Alex Eames hoped this wasn't going to be a wasted errand. She had tried to call Tanya and Jack twice, but there had been no reply from either of their cellphones, and she had a nasty feeling that they were out of their house. Then again, she didn't have their landline number, and it was always possible that they were in their house and had turned their cellphones off.

She could, of course, call MI5 and tell them that Jack and Tanya were probably out, and perhaps that would be the sensible thing to do… but she was enjoying the fresh air and the sense of purpose, and she really didn't want to go back to Thames House with her tail between her legs without having at least tried the door. As she rounded the corner, she saw that a light was on, and her spirits lifted, only to drop a few minutes later, when after repeated knocks on the door, and a quick peer through the window, she was forced to conclude that they were not at home; perhaps they'd left the light on just to fool potential burglars.

_So, now what?_ She couldn't just hang around waiting for them to show up, and in any case MI5 would want to know what was happening. She could just call them and let them solve the problem, if problem it was, but Detective Alex Eames of the NYPD did not enjoy being someone's errand girl, and tracking down two people whom she knew personally was hardly the biggest challenge to her skills she'd ever faced.

If she were going to try to find them, she thought, she could start by calling the office of the newspaper Jack worked for… _wait a minute. Didn't Tanya mention that Duncan Ampirelli lives somewhere near here? _She tried to remember what Tanya had actually said. _He lives with some friends, it's just round from where Jack and I live. It's handy because it's on the same street as the Red Lion_…

She stopped a passer-by and asked: "Excuse, do you know where the Red Lion is?"

"The pub, love?" He thought for a minute, then pointed to the street behind them. "It's just down there, on the corner at the end, you can't miss it."

"Thanks." She set off in the direction he'd indicated. She vaguely remembered what Ampirelli's house looked like anyway, from when she, Bobby and Davenport had visited it earlier that summer, so that Davenport could persuade the younger man to "lend" them a van to run a surveillance operation from. As she walked along the street, her confidence grew. This looked like the right place, and she thought she could see the house in the distance.

As she neared it, she heard encouraging sounds of occupation, and as she arrived there, she saw that there was a scruffy-looking van propped up on blocks in what would have been the front garden when the house was originally built. It had a familiar-looking pair of large brown work boots sticking out from underneath the engine.

She thought about yelling, but decided that Ampirelli wouldn't thank her for making him bang his head on the underside of the van, and instead positioned herself where he would be able to see her feet. The motion apparently caught his eye, as he wriggled quickly out from beneath the van.

"Oh! Hiya!" He smiled widely, apparently not in the least surprised to see someone he had met briefly nearly six months ago suddenly standing outside his house. She returned the smile. It was refreshing to meet someone who actually seemed pleased to see her for herself, rather than as an errand girl or potential bait for a sting operation.

As Ampirelli pulled himself up to his full height and removed the grubby hat he'd been wearing to keep his hair away from his face, she reflected that he seemed to be one of those rare human beings who was genuinely happy most of the time and seemed to like people. Certainly Tanya trusted him a lot, treating him as a sort of honorary family member-cum-errand boy, since his good nature meant that he would usually help her out… _Duncan, could you drive us to the hospital… Duncan, could you pick me up?_

_Duncan, could you drive this van full of bootleg DVDs? _she reminded herself astringently, recalling that Davenport had been able to persuade him to lend them the van in return for the fact that he'd intervened to stop the younger man from going to prison after several members of his family were arrested for selling pirate DVDs. Then again, she thought, Tanya clearly trusted him, and it wasn't hard to see that he might have been led into trouble by his family – she'd seen it happen before.

He smiled and glanced down at his hands, which were covered in oil and grease. "I'll not shake hands. How are you?"

"Good, thanks. Uh, listen, can you help me? I'm looking for Tanya, and I can't find her…"

"She's at the hospital, I dropped her off an hour or so ago."

"Oh. Is it…"

"Oh, it's nothing serious," Ampirelli rushed to reassure her. "It's just a check-up sort of thing, but Jack couldn't take her 'cause he's working, and she says she doesn't like to drive right now because it hurts her back. She's probably gonna be there for a while, they always have a huge queue."

"Oh." She considered her options. He continued, "I mean, if you wanna speak to her, I've got a spare key to their house. I could run you round there and we could wait there for her, if you like. I've just got to finish up here. Do you wanna go in, get yourself a…"

His words were interrupted by a loud shout from behind him. "Hoy! Lightning McQueen! Get your arse in here, now, we're opening the booze!" A young man with an Australian accent had appeared in the doorway behind him, clutching a can of beer.

Ampirelli bawled back: "I'm trying to have a conversation, bugger off, you daft Aussie git! Sorry about that," he apologised to Eames, "we're having a bit of a house party before that lot fly back down under to visit their mums and dads."

"Uh, well, I don't want to interrupt…"

He snorted. "Oh, you won't be, honest. The party's not gonna finish before tomorrow morning, I've got time to drop you off if you want me to do that. Tell you what, if you go in and get yourself a cuppa, I'll finish up here."

She decided that a warm drink would be a good idea, and wandered into the house. She immediately felt very old. Ampirelli's housemates all seemed to be in their early twenties, like him, and predominately Australian. They didn't seem in the least surprised to see a strange older woman wandering into the house, but instead cheerfully offered her a beer.

When she politely declined, the oldest person present (a young woman of about 24) found the kettle behind a pile of grubby plates, then went about unearthing the cleanest mug. Whilst she waited, she chatted to the young woman, whose name was Abby, and who was "on a visa, you know, I kinda didn't plan on staying this long, but it's fun, you know? Never a quiet night round here, God no."

"Has Duncan lived here long?"

"Duncan? Oh, you mean Amp? Oh yeah, he's been here for a year. It's dead good, 'cause he's really good at fixing things. The landlord's a lazy shit, but they usually are, right? Do you want sugar?"

"Yes, thanks…"

"No worries." She handed over the mug. "Tell you what, if you're a mate of Amp's, you're welcome to stay for a bit. We're just having a quiet night in tonight, have a few bevvies before everyone buggers off for Christmas."

A loud whoop came from the front door, and she smelt pizza. Eames was suddenly and irrationally tempted to accept. Why not stay in a warm house and eat pizza with friendly youngsters rather than wait in Tanya and Jack's empty house, then return to Thames House to be involved in yet more intrigue with cold-faced strangers?

But no, duty called. "Thanks for the invite, but I've got things to do…"

"Yeah, Christmas is a busy time, innit?" Abby suddenly yelled through the doorway, "Save some for me, you greedy buggers! Yeah, no worries, but take care of yourself, yeah?" She pushed past and into the front room of the house. Eames sipped the welcome hot tea, and went back out to see if Ampirelli had finished whatever he was doing with the van. He seemed to have done, as he was having a loud conversation with someone on his cellphone.

"…yeah, yeah, look, mate, it's buggered. It's basically lying on its back with all four legs in the air… no, not like that, you pervert! Look, the engine's knacked, all right?"

He listened impatiently to the loud squawking from the other end of the phone. "Well, you can take it round every garage in bloody West London, see if I care! They'll just tell you the same thing and charge you more. Look, the engine's knacked, you've buggered it up, and you need a new engine, and that's my last word. Oh yeah, you owe me twenty quid for having a look at it… yes, you do owe me, it's bloody freezing and I've just spent an hour on my back under your van when I could have been having some beers with the nutters in the house. Yeah, yeah, I'll see you later, okay?" He broke off the call.

"Do you speak to everyone you fix vans for like that?" she asked lightly.

He grinned. "Only the ones I'm related to. That was my cousin. Daft git. Who buys a van and doesn't put oil in it?"

"Is that the problem?"

"Yeah. Twenty-quid can of oil shoved into it three months ago and he wouldn't be looking at a new engine now – the bearings are completely gone. Silly bugger." He shook his head. "Anyway, I'm off in to get changed."

At that moment, her cellphone rang. It was DI Maldon. "Um, listen, I don't mean to pry, but… have you decided…? Will you have time?"

"I might have." She explained about the situation with Jack and Tanya, then glanced at her watch. "How near are the people you want me to question to where I am now?" She was tempted, no point denying it, but there was no way she would risk the success of the sting operation that evening on what could be a fool's errand, if she couldn't get back to Thames House later that day in time to play her part.

"Uh… give me the address?" He listened, then said: "Oh, that's not very far away at all. In fact, it's just round the corner from one of the people we have on the list. Shouldn't take too long. So, would you mind? Sorry to keep asking."

"It's okay." She decided on impulse that she would do it. She had the time, and she might as well use it productively instead of hanging around waiting for Tanya and Jack. "Yes, I'll do it – just give me the address."

"Of course!" He sounded hugely relieved. She scribbled down the address. "So, listen, how are you going to get there? If you want to get a cab, I'll cover the expense."

"I'll do that. Thanks."

"You're the one doing me a favour."

"Seems to be my day for that. I'd better call MI5 and tell them I'll be a while longer-"

"No, don't bother, I'll take care of that for you. No point you wasting your time repeating everything you've just told me to them. Now, let me tell you about who I need you to talk to."

Five minutes later, she was still looking at the details she'd rapidly jotted down. Maldon had given her an address in a local housing estate, for a woman who was distantly related to one of the students who had been in the Newcomers organisation. They didn't really expect that she'd know anything, he explained, but they just wanted to be sure. She was to go round there, explain that she was with the police, then ask if the woman in question had any contact with her errant family member in the weeks leading up to the attack on the stadium.

Eames thought it likely that at that point she would probably get the door slammed in her face, but she was okay with that. It would be good to do some real, old-fashioned police work – and to do something that she'd chosen to do, rather than being pushed around as she had been for the past few days.

Amp reappeared behind her. He'd cleaned the grime off his face and hands, tied his long ginger hair back into a ponytail, and changed into a black t-shirt, jeans and an old leather jacket. "So, do you want me to drive you round?"

"Actually, Duncan, do you know of any good taxi firms round here? I need to run an errand."

He listened to the details, then shook his head. "You'll not get a taxi to take you there."

"Why not?"

"It's kind of a rough area. I mean, it's not that bad – they've not had any shootings or owt – but it's a bit chavvy, you know, lots of rough kids hanging around. A lot of the taxi drivers won't go there because, well you know, they're Asian, half of them, and the kids sometimes chuck things at them. What do you want to go there for?"

"It's just some police work." _And it would have been nice if Maldon had mentioned that, but never mind_. Maybe he didn't know the area well. "Hmm…"

"I could take you," Ampirelli offered. "It's not that far."

"Are you sure? I don't want to take you away from your friends…"

He shrugged. "Oh no, like I say, the party's gonna be going on for a while. Listen, I don't like to ask, but…"

"I'll cover your time and gas- petrol." _Or at least the Metropolitan Police can_.

"All right then. Tell you what, we'll take my van." He gestured at a small blue van parked outside the house. "Be a bit easier to park it there than a car, they'll think we're just there to fix the water pipes or something."

"Let's go." They headed to the van, and Duncan politely unlocked the door and opened it for her, then hopped into the driver's side. It was a little scruffy, but not too dirty or messy inside, and the seat was quite comfortable. As he turned the key, there was a sudden blast of sound, "LIKE A BAT OUTTA HELL, I'LL BE GONE BEFORE THE MORNING COMES…" before he turned the stereo off with a slightly embarrassed expression and put the heater on.

She gave him the address, and it occurred to her suddenly to wonder if MI5 were keeping tabs on her. Hadn't they mentioned having Jack and Tanya's house under surveillance? But no, they surely wouldn't bother to tail her for some routine police work, and in any case her cop instincts hadn't picked up any signs of anyone following her (unless they were extremely good, to the point of invisibility). In any case, John Durham had been explicit about the fact that he'd told the criminals he was working with that Bobby and Sienna were his real targets.

_I'm there to make up the numbers_, she reflected drily. As Duncan pulled away into the traffic, she felt a surge of excitement. Finally, something to get her teeth into, some actual investigative work, something that she could do to help.


	14. Lightning McQueen

Chapter 13 – "Lightning McQueen"

As she walked around the corner towards Tanya and Jack's house, Alex Eames hoped this wasn't going to be a wasted errand. She had tried to call Tanya and Jack twice, but there had been no reply from either of their cellphones, and she had a nasty feeling that they were out of their house. Then again, she didn't have their landline number, and it was always possible that they were in their house and had turned their cellphones off.

She could, of course, call MI5 and tell them that Jack and Tanya were probably out, and perhaps that would be the sensible thing to do… but she was enjoying the fresh air and the sense of purpose, and she really didn't want to go back to Thames House with her tail between her legs without having at least tried the door. As she rounded the corner, she saw that a light was on, and her spirits lifted, only to drop a few minutes later, when after repeated knocks on the door, and a quick peer through the window, she was forced to conclude that they were not at home; perhaps they'd left the light on just to fool potential burglars.

_So, now what?_ She couldn't just hang around waiting for them to show up, and in any case MI5 would want to know what was happening. She could just call them and let them solve the problem, if problem it was, but Detective Alex Eames of the NYPD did not enjoy being someone's errand girl, and tracking down two people whom she knew personally was hardly the biggest challenge to her skills she'd ever faced.

If she were going to try to find them, she thought, she could start by calling the office of the newspaper Jack worked for… _wait a minute. Didn't Tanya mention that Duncan Ampirelli lives somewhere near here? _She tried to remember what Tanya had actually said. _He lives with some friends, it's just round from where Jack and I live. It's handy because it's on the same street as the Red Lion_…

She stopped a passer-by and asked: "Excuse, do you know where the Red Lion is?"

"The pub, love?" He thought for a minute, then pointed to the street behind them. "It's just down there, on the corner at the end, you can't miss it."

"Thanks." She set off in the direction he'd indicated. She vaguely remembered what Ampirelli's house looked like anyway, from when she, Bobby and Davenport had visited it earlier that summer, so that Davenport could persuade the younger man to "lend" them a van to run a surveillance operation from. As she walked along the street, her confidence grew. This looked like the right place, and she thought she could see the house in the distance.

As she neared it, she heard encouraging sounds of occupation, and as she arrived there, she saw that there was a scruffy-looking van propped up on blocks in what would have been the front garden when the house was originally built. It had a familiar-looking pair of large brown work boots sticking out from underneath the engine.

She thought about yelling, but decided that Ampirelli wouldn't thank her for making him bang his head on the underside of the van, and instead positioned herself where he would be able to see her feet. The motion apparently caught his eye, as he wriggled quickly out from beneath the van.

"Oh! Hiya!" He smiled widely, apparently not in the least surprised to see someone he had met briefly nearly six months ago suddenly standing outside his house. She returned the smile. It was refreshing to meet someone who actually seemed pleased to see her for herself, rather than as an errand girl or potential bait for a sting operation.

As Ampirelli pulled himself up to his full height and removed the grubby hat he'd been wearing to keep his hair away from his face, she reflected that he seemed to be one of those rare human beings who was genuinely happy most of the time and seemed to like people. Certainly Tanya trusted him a lot, treating him as a sort of honorary family member-cum-errand boy, since his good nature meant that he would usually help her out… _Duncan, could you drive us to the hospital… Duncan, could you pick me up?_

_Duncan, could you drive this van full of bootleg DVDs? _she reminded herself astringently, recalling that Davenport had been able to persuade him to lend them the van in return for the fact that he'd intervened to stop the younger man from going to prison after several members of his family were arrested for selling pirate DVDs. Then again, she thought, Tanya clearly trusted him, and it wasn't hard to see that he might have been led into trouble by his family – she'd seen it happen before.

He smiled and glanced down at his hands, which were covered in oil and grease. "I'll not shake hands. How are you?"

"Good, thanks. Uh, listen, can you help me? I'm looking for Tanya, and I can't find her…"

"She's at the hospital, I dropped her off an hour or so ago."

"Oh. Is it…"

"Oh, it's nothing serious," Ampirelli rushed to reassure her. "It's just a check-up sort of thing, but Jack couldn't take her 'cause he's working, and she says she doesn't like to drive right now because it hurts her back. She's probably gonna be there for a while, they always have a huge queue."

"Oh." She considered her options. He continued, "I mean, if you wanna speak to her, I've got a spare key to their house. I could run you round there and we could wait there for her, if you like. I've just got to finish up here. Do you wanna go in, get yourself a…"

His words were interrupted by a loud shout from behind him. "Hoy! Lightning McQueen! Get your arse in here, now, we're opening the booze!" A young man with an Australian accent had appeared in the doorway behind him, clutching a can of beer.

Ampirelli bawled back: "I'm trying to have a conversation, bugger off, you daft Aussie git! Sorry about that," he apologised to Eames, "we're having a bit of a house party before that lot fly back down under to visit their mums and dads."

"Uh, well, I don't want to interrupt…"

He snorted. "Oh, you won't be, honest. The party's not gonna finish before tomorrow morning, I've got time to drop you off if you want me to do that. Tell you what, if you go in and get yourself a cuppa, I'll finish up here."

She decided that a warm drink would be a good idea, and wandered into the house. She immediately felt very old. Ampirelli's housemates all seemed to be in their early twenties, like him, and predominately Australian. They didn't seem in the least surprised to see a strange older woman wandering into the house, but instead cheerfully offered her a beer.

When she politely declined, the oldest person present (a young woman of about 24) found the kettle behind a pile of grubby plates, then went about unearthing the cleanest mug. Whilst she waited, she chatted to the young woman, whose name was Abby, and who was "on a visa, you know, I kinda didn't plan on staying this long, but it's fun, you know? Never a quiet night round here, God no."

"Has Duncan lived here long?"

"Duncan? Oh, you mean Amp? Oh yeah, he's been here for a year. It's dead good, 'cause he's really good at fixing things. The landlord's a lazy shit, but they usually are, right? Do you want sugar?"

"Yes, thanks…"

"No worries." She handed over the mug. "Tell you what, if you're a mate of Amp's, you're welcome to stay for a bit. We're just having a quiet night in tonight, have a few bevvies before everyone buggers off for Christmas."

A loud whoop came from the front door, and she smelt pizza. Eames was suddenly and irrationally tempted to accept. Why not stay in a warm house and eat pizza with friendly youngsters rather than wait in Tanya and Jack's empty house, then return to Thames House to be involved in yet more intrigue with cold-faced strangers?

But no, duty called. "Thanks for the invite, but I've got things to do…"

"Yeah, Christmas is a busy time, innit?" Abby suddenly yelled through the doorway, "Save some for me, you greedy buggers! Yeah, no worries, but take care of yourself, yeah?" She pushed past and into the front room of the house. Eames sipped the welcome hot tea, and went back out to see if Ampirelli had finished whatever he was doing with the van. He seemed to have done, as he was having a loud conversation with someone on his cellphone.

"…yeah, yeah, look, mate, it's buggered. It's basically lying on its back with all four legs in the air… no, not like that, you pervert! Look, the engine's knacked, all right?"

He listened impatiently to the loud squawking from the other end of the phone. "Well, you can take it round every garage in bloody West London, see if I care! They'll just tell you the same thing and charge you more. Look, the engine's knacked, you've buggered it up, and you need a new engine, and that's my last word. Oh yeah, you owe me twenty quid for having a look at it… yes, you do owe me, it's bloody freezing and I've just spent an hour on my back under your van when I could have been having some beers with the nutters in the house. Yeah, yeah, I'll see you later, okay?" He broke off the call.

"Do you speak to everyone you fix vans for like that?" she asked lightly.

He grinned. "Only the ones I'm related to. That was my cousin. Daft git. Who buys a van and doesn't put oil in it?"

"Is that the problem?"

"Yeah. Twenty-quid can of oil shoved into it three months ago and he wouldn't be looking at a new engine now – the bearings are completely gone. Silly bugger." He shook his head. "Anyway, I'm off in to get changed."

At that moment, her cellphone rang. It was DI Maldon. "Um, listen, I don't mean to pry, but… have you decided…? Will you have time?"

"I might have." She explained about the situation with Jack and Tanya, then glanced at her watch. "How near are the people you want me to question to where I am now?" She was tempted, no point denying it, but there was no way she would risk the success of the sting operation that evening on what could be a fool's errand, if she couldn't get back to Thames House later that day in time to play her part.

"Uh… give me the address?" He listened, then said: "Oh, that's not very far away at all. In fact, it's just round the corner from one of the people we have on the list. Shouldn't take too long. So, would you mind? Sorry to keep asking."

"It's okay." She decided on impulse that she would do it. She had the time, and she might as well use it productively instead of hanging around waiting for Tanya and Jack. "Yes, I'll do it – just give me the address."

"Of course!" He sounded hugely relieved. She scribbled down the address. "So, listen, how are you going to get there? If you want to get a cab, I'll cover the expense."

"I'll do that. Thanks."

"You're the one doing me a favour."

"Seems to be my day for that. I'd better call MI5 and tell them I'll be a while longer-"

"No, don't bother, I'll take care of that for you. No point you wasting your time repeating everything you've just told me to them. Now, let me tell you about who I need you to talk to."

Five minutes later, she was still looking at the details she'd rapidly jotted down. Maldon had given her an address in a local housing estate, for a woman who was distantly related to one of the students who had been in the Newcomers organisation. They didn't really expect that she'd know anything, he explained, but they just wanted to be sure. She was to go round there, explain that she was with the police, then ask if the woman in question had any contact with her errant family member in the weeks leading up to the attack on the stadium.

Eames thought it likely that at that point she would probably get the door slammed in her face, but she was okay with that. It would be good to do some real, old-fashioned police work – and to do something that she'd chosen to do, rather than being pushed around as she had been for the past few days.

Amp reappeared behind her. He'd cleaned the grime off his face and hands, tied his long ginger hair back into a ponytail, and changed into a black t-shirt, jeans and an old leather jacket. "So, do you want me to drive you round?"

"Actually, Duncan, do you know of any good taxi firms round here? I need to run an errand."

He listened to the details, then shook his head. "You'll not get a taxi to take you there."

"Why not?"

"It's kind of a rough area. I mean, it's not that bad – they've not had any shootings or owt – but it's a bit chavvy, you know, lots of rough kids hanging around. A lot of the taxi drivers won't go there because, well you know, they're Asian, half of them, and the kids sometimes chuck things at them. What do you want to go there for?"

"It's just some police work." _And it would have been nice if Maldon had mentioned that, but never mind_. Maybe he didn't know the area well. "Hmm…"

"I could take you," Ampirelli offered. "It's not that far."

"Are you sure? I don't want to take you away from your friends…"

He shrugged. "Oh no, like I say, the party's gonna be going on for a while. Listen, I don't like to ask, but…"

"I'll cover your time and gas- petrol." _Or at least the Metropolitan Police can_.

"All right then. Tell you what, we'll take my van." He gestured at a small blue van parked outside the house. "Be a bit easier to park it there than a car, they'll think we're just there to fix the water pipes or something."

"Let's go." They headed to the van, and Duncan politely unlocked the door and opened it for her, then hopped into the driver's side. It was a little scruffy, but not too dirty or messy inside, and the seat was quite comfortable. As he turned the key, there was a sudden blast of sound, "LIKE A BAT OUTTA HELL, I'LL BE GONE BEFORE THE MORNING COMES…" before he turned the stereo off with a slightly embarrassed expression and put the heater on.

She gave him the address, and it occurred to her suddenly to wonder if MI5 were keeping tabs on her. Hadn't they mentioned having Jack and Tanya's house under surveillance? But no, they surely wouldn't bother to tail her for some routine police work, and in any case her cop instincts hadn't picked up any signs of anyone following her (unless they were extremely good, to the point of invisibility). In any case, John Durham had been explicit about the fact that he'd told the criminals he was working with that Bobby and Sienna were his real targets.

_I'm there to make up the numbers_, she reflected drily. As Duncan pulled away into the traffic, she felt a surge of excitement. Finally, something to get her teeth into, some actual investigative work, something that she could do to help.


	15. Where Did You Say It Was?

Chapter 14: "Where Did You Say It Was?"

As they pulled up outside the grimy block of apartments, she rechecked the address. "It's up there somewhere, I guess." She looked up at the maze of grimy concrete walkways and shuddered. It was a grim place, windswept and cold, and the lowering grey skies didn't help. _I guess crappy social housing looks the same the world over_.

Ampirelli peered over her shoulder. "I reckon it'll be on the top floor. You won't wanna go up there on your own. Tell you what, we'll go together."

"You can't, they sent me because they don't think the people I'm talking to will trust a male… Could you come up with me as far as the same floor, then wait?" She was not afraid, but it made sense to be cautious in a place she didn't know, particularly if it was the sort of place Ampirelli had just described. There was a certain appeal in having backup in the form of a six-foot-plus male lurking in the background. Ampirelli was not far off the same size as Bobby, and though somewhat chubby, there was obviously a fair amount of muscle on him too. Then again, he was maybe half her age, perhaps less, and she didn't want to put him in danger.

"Yeah, of course. I've done this sort of thing before."

"This sort of thing?"

"Well, Tanya does a lot of work in the local community, you know, helping women learn self-defence and that. Sometimes if they don't show up, she likes to go round and check they're alright." He pulled a face. "I mean, where we live's not a bad area, but there's some really rough places round here. It's why she does the self-defence, like, keeping kids out of trouble and teaching the women to stand up for themselves a bit, keep themselves safe and that… I sometimes help out at the classes, the women there really like being able to beat up a big bloke…"

He chuckled "…but anyway, yeah, I go with her. I mean, it's not like she's afraid of owt, but there's some people are just stupid about that sort of thing. It doesn't matter that she's a scary fucker herself, excuse my language, it's when they see she's got a bloke with it, it sometimes stops them from kicking off, 'cause they think they'll have to go the park with me." He shook his head. "Silly buggers. Tanya's a shedload more scary than I am, but…"

She broke into the stream of words. "Yes, well, can you come with me?"

"Yeah, of course." They got out, having carefully parked the van facing away from the apartment block (in case a quick exit might be needed) and he locked the van. They set off up the stairs together.

She couldn't help but be aware that they were the recipients of several unfriendly stares and comments from a set of five teenage boys hanging around on one of the landings. Ampirelli gave them an unfriendly scowl, and they backed off, muttering swearwords under their breath.

They headed on up to the apartment she had the address for. Ampirelli waited just out of sight as she knocked on the door. There was a timid-sounding shuffling from behind, and the sound of someone standing behind a door.

"Hello? What do you want?" a nervous-sounding voice asked.

"I'd like to speak to Amina Farooqi-"

"She's not here." The door suddenly opened, and a worried-looking female face appeared. "She doesn't live here any more, okay? She moved."

"When was that?"

"About a month ago."

"Have you got the address?"

"Yeah, it's somewhere round here…" The woman went back inside, leaving the door on the chain, and Eames heard her rooting through some papers. She finally reappeared clutching a piece of paper with an address written on it. "Here you go." She slammed the door.

Eames rejoined Ampirelli, who frowned at the address. "I haven't seen that street before, it must be new-build. Hang on, I've got satnav in the van."

They walked back downstairs, Ampirelli scowling at the same kids on the way down. He inspected the van carefully, or at least as carefully as he could in the fading light. "It looks alright- you never know when someone's going to stick a screwdriver in it for a laugh," he explained. They got in and he moved off carefully, looking around for stray pedestrians, then pulled out into the road. "I'll just park up at the petrol station, I'd rather not hang around here," he explained as they pulled out of the estate and back onto a main road.

At a nearby petrol station, they pulled in sharply, causing the driver of a black SUV behind them to nearly run into the back of them; it stopped short with a squeal of brakes. Amp cheerfully waved back at the tinted windows, parked the van in a parking space at the back of the garage, and Eames went to find some snacks in the shop inside and use the bathroom. She returned to find an absence of Ampirelli, but he wandered back a minute later, adjusting his jeans. He rooted through the glove compartment to find the satnav, then started it up and put in the postcode.

They looked at the planned route, and Eames looked at her watch. She tried calling Tanya again, and this time got through.

"Hey, Alex! Good to hear from you!" Tanya's voice sounded falsely bright, and Eames suddenly remembered with a jolt that someone might be listening in on the conversation.

"You too. Listen, we need to talk. Are you free?"

"I'm going to be stuck here at the hospital for another hour or so whilst they wait for my blood test results."

"Anything…"

"No, it's nothing serious. Just one of those pregnancy things. I'm in the café at the hospital. Listen, do you want to meet at my house in about, let's say two hours, give Jack time to get home?"

"Okay, that works. I'll see you then." She ended the call and looked across at Ampirelli.

"Are you wanting to meet Tanya then?" He looked at the satnav. "We could do it, if you want to. I can get you there and back. It's not somewhere I know, but it looks easy enough."

They set off again, and the satnav guided them down a long main road, away from the main roads they had been travelling on. She called in and explained the situation to her contact at MI5, who seemed less than excited that she was running errands for the Metropolitan Police, but was pacified by the knowledge that she was on schedule to meet Tanya, explain the situation to her, and get back to Thames House in plenty of time to take part in the evening's events. She felt her gut clench at the thought, just a little, and dismissed it. She was Alex Eames, and this was nothing to a Major Case detective. Nothing she couldn't handle.

As she looked out of the window, she could see new houses in various stages of construction along the way. To judge from the occasional ruined old building nearby, it looked as though it was a mixture of new houses and converted old industrial buildings, as the city reshaped itself for the demands of the soon-to-be new year.

They continued down the road, Ampirelli frowning slightly as the satnav continued to tell them to keep going, even though they had passed the houses some way back. The area on either side of them looked rough and desolate. "I guess they're still building this bit – are you sure we read that postcode right?"

She checked it again. "It looks right, but I guess that woman could have written it down wrongly."

"Tell you what, we'll keep going til we get there, then at least we'll know if we're in the wrong place."

They kept going in uneasy silence, as the road continued. Eventually, they came to a large brick gate, which looked freshly built, and Eames' spirits rose, only to drop again as the van stopped in front of a large, derelict-looking warehouse. A large sign proclaimed that there would soon be apartments to rent, but there appeared to be no other signs of life. Several sagging sacks of sand and cement and an abandoned metal container completed the general picture of depressing bleakness.

"Well, we're here," Ampirelli remarked. "Doesn't look too good, does it?"

"I guess there could be houses being built behind it," she replied without much hope.

"Okay, do you want to go round one way, and I'll go round the other?"

She nodded. _Might as well see it through to the end._ They got out, and Ampirelli locked the van again, before the two of them split off. It was a big warehouse, and it took twenty minutes for her to walk around it, only to frown in dismay. The only thing at the back of the building was a large, barren looking field, with a dank brown river behind it. In the distance, a freight train clanked slowly over a rusty-looking bridge, trailing an endless stream of boxcars behind it. Ampirelli appeared around the warehouse's other corner, waved at her and shrugged. She shrugged back, and they turned to walk back round the building again to the van.

She was mentally composing her explanation to Maldon, when an odd flicker at the corner of her eye caught her attention. She looked up, but there was nothing there. Strange, she could have sworn she'd seen something move… She paused to look around, scrutinising the broken windows of the warehouse carefully, but there was nothing there…. Wait.

She frowned. There was a movement coming from inside the building. Looking closely, she could see the outlines of two men, dressed all in black with balaclavas pulled over their faces.

_Oh, shit_. She had no idea who they were, but she did not intend to stick around to find out. She raced back to the van, and nearly ran into Ampirelli, whose expression was wild. "Did you see…" he panted and jerked a thumb at the warehouse.

"Yes. Let's get out of here."

"We can't."

_Oh shit_.

"What the hell do you mean, we can't?"

"We've got a _big_ fucking problem." His face had gone white, and he jerked a large thumb at the van, which looked… odd. Lopsided.

_Oh, fuck_. Eames sprinted to the other side of it, and confirmed what she had already guessed. Two of the tyres were completely flat, one at the front, one at the back. Her memory supplied a perfect recollection of the road they had just travelled down… one road only leading here and away, and no-one else using it; it had been as quiet as the grave. They were trapped.

"I reckon someone stuck something in them when we stopped off to get petrol," he muttered darkly. "Anyway, what now?"

_Good question_, Eames thought unhappily, and glanced at the warehouse. No-one had come out of it, but she could see definite signs of movement inside. Frantically, she retrieved her cellphone from the inside pocket of her jacket.

No signal.

_Oh, __fuck_.


	16. Trapped

Chapter 15: "Trapped".

She took a second to consider the situation. No van, no cellphone signal, no badge, no gun, no backup, no real idea where they were, only one way in or out. _We should have turned back when we thought this was the wrong road_, she realised unhappily. Damn, but she'd been so sure this was simple… She realised with sickening clarity that that had been a bad mistake. A twisting worm of anxiety began to writhe in her stomach, and she tried to avoid thinking that it could prove to be a very bad mistake indeed. _This is the sort of situation where people _

_get killed_…

_Don't think that, Eames_, she told herself sternly, and forced herself to review the options. "Can you fix the tyres at all? You have a spare, right?"

"I've got _a_ spare, yeah, but not two."

"Okay, so replace the worst tyre with the spare. Now!"

"I still won't be able to drive it!"

"Yes, you _will_. I'll keep watch." _Against God knows how many of the bastards_.

"It'll knacker the wheel…" Amp caught her expression, and stopped talking. "Alright, I'll change the tyre." He began to root around in the rear of the van, lifting the floor to get at the spare tyre and jack, casting nervous glances around them.

She watched for a while, considering their options rapidly, and realising that they really had none. Even if Ampirelli got the spare tyre on in the next few minutes, the two of them were exposed, out in the open. They could try making a run for it back down the road, but if this really was a trap, there would be more of their opponents on the way behind them. She felt a strong urge to run and hide but controlled it. Hiding wouldn't help them for more than a few minutes if whoever might be coming knew the warehouse… unless they had some form of help on the way.

"Dunc… Amp, I'm going to see if I can get any reception." She waved the phone.

He grunted in agreement, being fully occupied in hefting the useless wheel from the front of the van without dropping it onto his foot. She felt a moment's pang of guilt and wondered if she should tell him to hide, to run if he heard sounds. _No, if I panic him any more it won't help..._ And just as she thought that, the men in balaclavas came running out of the warehouse. Their time for considering their options had just run out.

_Oh shit_. There were six men, all clad in black with the same balaclavas over their faces, all wearing the same anonymous clothing. They had no guns that she could see, but they didn't need them, not for a six-on-two fight where one of the two was a small woman. She saw with a sick wave of horror that two were carrying large brown sacks and ropes…

_Oh shit._

She swiftly drew her gun, yelling "Stop! Stop or I shoot!", knowing as she did so that she couldn't fire on all of them; there were too many. Whoever her attackers were, they had some training in facing an armed opponent. They spread out widely, too far apart for her to draw a bead on all of them. She fired once, a warning shot, then her peripheral vision flickered and she twisted aside. Not far enough, as something hard smashed down on her forearm, making her lose her grip on her weapon. Before she could try to retrieve it, her attacker kicked it away, beyond the other men running towards her, too far for her to be able to retrieve it without running smack into one of her assailants.

Twisting aside and dodging to avoid his grasp, she ran instinctively, back towards the van and Amp, who started up from his position by the side of the van at the sound of running feet. His face betrayed shock, fear even, for a second, then he grabbed the tyre iron and ran towards her, yelling loudly at their attackers.

Suddenly, one of the men grabbed her from behind, and she almost fell, but instead managed to twist, to use the momentum against her attack, jabbing her fist hard into his solar plexus. His thick jacket cushioned the blow, but she had managed to regain the initiative, and followed it up with a hard stamp to his instep, and a simultaneous head-butt to the bridge of his nose. She kneed him in the groin, and he toppled to the ground, but any triumph she might have felt was only momentary, as another attacker came at her.

There were just too many of them, she realised with a sinking feeling. Far too many for she and Amp to take on their own, but nevertheless she squared up to the man, dancing on her feet, picking points of attack, then he swung at her, and she ducked the punch, and for the next few seconds she was frantically busy avoiding his blows. He was very fast, and she was already breathing hard, trying everything she could think of, but he dodged and dodged again, and she realised with a sinking feeling that he was simply trying to tire her out, wear down her stamina…

…Suddenly, something, some_one_, clad all in black, grabbed her attacker, picked him up, and threw him over one shoulder with a roar of rage, following the move up with a vicious kick to the man's ribs and a stamp on his ankle. Around her, she could hear her attackers' confusion at this unexpected turn of events. The figure yelled "Here!" and threw something at her. She caught it reflexively, and realised with a surge of joy that it was a police baton.

_Now you're talking_. She laid into one of their assailants with the skill of years of NYPD training, and he collapsed to the ground, clutching his leg and moaning. In front of her, the black-clad figure continued to fight with brutal efficiency. His – it was a he, she realised from the corner of her eye, as she paused momentarily to select her next target – style was almost graceful, but mainly it was horribly efficient, with barely a move wasted. Fast and accurate, it favoured either blows from a baton similar to the one she was holding, or kicks, designed to disable his opponent before they could get within striking range.

She took on another attacker. Unarmed and facing an experienced police officer with a baton, he was less sure of himself, less confident, and she felled him swiftly, and suddenly there were no more, apart from one last one, dodging frantically out of the way as her rescuer attacked again and again.

His back was to her, but she realised suddenly, with a sense of déjà vu, that she knew this style of fighting. Had seen it before… had seen it before, performed by the martial artist who had taught it to her rescuer, who was even now getting the upper hand, slipping inside his opponent's guard to fell him with a uppercut straight to the point of the jaw.

She knew his identity now, even before he turned to face her.

_Don't show your surprise_, she thought wearily. _And don't act grateful, because he'll only make fun of it_.

As she met her rescuer's grey eyes, she remarked in her best snarky tones: "We've got to stop meeting like this."

Drew Davenport grinned at her. "Why? It's always so much fun."

A faint _mmph!_ noise from behind them interrupted any further reunion; they turned as one to see Duncan Ampirelli grappling frantically on the ground with an attacker nearly as big as he was. He had managed to get a solid grip on his opponent's upper body, but the man was thrashing about too much for him to risk shifting his grip to get an arm- or neck- lock on to end the fight.

Davenport sprinted across and dropped down to balance on his heels behind Amp's head, remarked: "Hold on to him", and reached across to efficiently stick both thumbs into the sides of the man's neck. He continued to struggle, but was no match for both men combined, and after a minute his struggles ceased. Davenport held his thumbs in place for a few seconds more, then released them, bouncing up onto his feet.

Eames noticed suddenly that his movements seemed a little more heavy than when she'd last seen him, and her sharp eyes spotted that he seemed bulkier. _That could just be the coat, or whatever he has underneath it…_ Davenport was clad in a heavy black leather overcoat, with black flexible boots and what looked like black jeans underneath. A black woollen rollneck sweater was visible at his throat, and a black ski cap and thin leather gloves completed the outfit.

Channelling her inner Bobby Goren, she mused whether perhaps Davenport was trying to put an extra layer of protection between himself and the world outside after nearly losing the use of his hand. O_r possibly just trying to keep warm_. The afternoon light was beginning to darken, and the temperature was perceptibly dropping.

"Well, you two have managed to get yourselves into trouble, haven't you?" Davenport remarked merrily. "What the hell are you doing out here?"

"I could ask the same of you."

"Repaying my debts." At her raised eyebrow, he shrugged. "I owe you my life; this squares that debt."

"And you were following us in the first place because…?"

He shrugged again. "I was told to keep an eye on you and protect you if you needed it." To her expression, he replied: "Oh come on, you didn't think Five would let you go off wandering around London on your own interviewing potential witnesses in a terrorism trial without someone keeping an eye on you? I mean, really, Alex, you know better than that!" He smirked. _How is it possible that someone who just probably saved your life can give you this overwhelming urge to punch them on the nose two minutes later?_

"Isn't this kind of demeaning for you?" she asked sweetly. "Or do they often ask you to babysit?"

Davenport just grinned more widely, not in the least bothered by the sarcasm. "They're trying to give me 'light duty' whilst I'm still 're-acclimatising to work' after being off sick for the past five months," he explained, chuckling happily, then skipped lightly to one side as a would-be attacker revived sufficiently to try to grab his ankle, and cheerfully kicked the man in the ribs.

Reaching inside his coat, he retrieved a pack of plastic handcuffs and threw it to Eames. "You cuff them, I'll keep an eye on them. Oh, and this is for you for now, we'll get your own gun back once these silly bastards are safely tied up." He reached inside again, and withdrew a holstered firearm, handing it across with practised caution.

It was a Glock 19; not necessarily her own choice of weapon, but standard-issue to NYPD officers, and familiar enough. She checked it over and found everything in order, secured the holster to her belt, and begun cuffing their assailants' hands and feet, taking care not to get between them and Davenport, who had drawn his own weapon and was holding it comfortably by his side. She retrieved her own sidearm and offered the other back to Davenport, who shook his head, saying "Keep it for now". Faced with two armed captors, their would-be attackers subsided into sullen resentment.

"Hold on, you've got a _gun_?" She'd almost forgotten Duncan Ampirelli's presence. She didn't look up as she finished cuffing the last two, then glanced across to see him rubbing gingerly at his rapidly-swelling left eye and staring incredulously at Davenport, who had been surveying the area thoughtfully.

He looked across, and replied, patiently, "Yes, Duncan, I have a gun."

"Why didn't you shoot the bastards?"

A corner of Davenport's mouth quirked, just briefly, and Eames felt a sudden pang of queasiness as she instantly recalled just how unpredictable he could be.

"Oh, you think I should have shot them?" From behind him came a series of yells; he whirled swiftly and roared: "SHUT UP, or I'll fucking gag you!" The yells died instantly.

"They were trying to kill us!"

"Really, they were trying to kill you, are you sure?"

"Well… yeah!"

"And you think they deserve to be shot?" He grinned, showing his teeth. "All right then!" Again he reached under his coat, and Eames' stomach lurched as he retrieved another gun. Almost before she could blink, he'd pushed it into Duncan Ampirelli's hand.

"All right then, Duncan. You do it!"


	17. No Way Out

Chapter Twelve – "Missing Persons"

_Damnit, I wish Eames was here_.

It was half past two in the afternoon, and Bobby Goren was decidedly beginning to feel the effects of a weird combination of jetlag, missed sleep, anticipatory nerves, and the strange _part-of-me-is-missing_ feeling he always got when he was trying to work without Alexandra Eames' familiar presence. Beside him, Sienna looked to be in much the same state of mind. They'd been stuck in the same small, crowded room with a bunch of MI5 officers, going over and over the same plans for tomorrow. He had no idea why. They'd worked out every last detail, and in his opinion it was going to look decidedly odd if he and Sienna were absent for the information-reviewing sessions for the prosecution for the stadium attack much longer, since those were supposedly their reason for being here.

However, Anne Langford seemed determined to work out every detail, dot every _i_, cross every _t_… He was not easily intimidated, but there was something frightening about the woman. She was relentless, a machine, and her eyes were cold. He had rarely seen a harder expression on anyone's face, including several major criminals. _Imagine working for that face every day_, he thought idly. If he'd thought Davenport ruthless, he could see why now. Langford seemed willing to risk anything to resolve the situation with John Durham as speedily as possible, and he had no doubt that she ran her entire department in the same way.

He jumped a little as Sienna's voice jolted him out of his reverie. "Excuse me," she said firmly. Everyone at the table looked up.

"I really feel it's time that we all take a break." She smiled politely in Langford's general direction, who regarded the younger woman with a mixture of amusement and condescension. "Does anyone else object?" She looked around the table at the assembled MI5 staff. None seemed inclined to disagree. Sienna smiled sweetly. "Well, then. Ten minutes?" She barely paused for an answer before rising to her feet.

They left the room together. Sienna appeared to know where she was going, and he followed her to a small space with chairs scattered around and a couple of vending machines. "You can get better reception here," she explained, retrieving her cellphone and putting it on the table in front of her. "Of course, you never know who's listening in around here. I'm going to get something to eat."

"Good idea." He watched her cellphone as Sienna walked across to buy a bar of chocolate from the machine. It rang just as she was fishing in her purse for some small change. "Bobby, could you get that?"

"Of course." He picked up the phone and checked the display. It showed "Tanya". He shrugged and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Si- oh, hi there. Is that, uh, Bobby?"

"Yes, it's me."

"Oh, maybe you can help me." Tanya's voice sounded a little puzzled.

"Uh… sure."

"Do you know where Alex is?"

"Downstairs, I think – we're all in meetings at the moment."

"Huh? She was meant to be meeting me and Jack at our house half an hour ago."

"Huh?" He frowned at the phone. "Sorry, what?"

"She phoned me a while ago, saying she wanted to meet me and Jack for a chat – I guess it's about what we've got planned for tonight. I was at the hospital, she said she was going to meet us at our house, but we arranged that she'd be here half an hour ago, and I haven't heard anything. Have you got her phone number?"

He frowned, feeling uneasy. "I'll call her and get her to call you." Beside him, he saw Sienna's quizzical frown. He held up a hand and signalled _Wait_ to her with his expression. She nodded and looked concerned as he called Eames' cell.

No reply. He tried again, this time standing next to the window to maximise the reception. All that got him was a slightly clearer-sounding "the number you have called is not available" message. He looked across at Sienna. "Sienna, could you try calling Eames?"

She nodded and frowned. "Of course, is there something wrong? Isn't she downstairs?"

"Could you just try?"

"Okay." She took her cellphone from him and called Eames' number. She listened for a minute and shook her head. "Nothing. Why?"

He explained about her being supposed to meet Tanya and Jack. Sienna frowned. "That's odd, why didn't they tell us?" She pressed a few buttons on her cell and made a quick call. "Listen, Tanni, it's me, Sisi – no, we can't get hold of her either. We're going to go have a look for her, then I'll call you straight back."

They looked at each other and walked hurriedly towards the stairs. Sienna tugged his arm. "Bobby, let's go this way – it'll get us to where she's supposed to be faster and we can avoid getting dragged back in with Langford's team." He nodded, and followed her through the maze of corridors. They were almost running by the time they arrived at the room where the meeting Eames was supposed to be having was being held, only to find it in a state of apparent confusion. There were only two men in the room, both of whom appeared to be making repeated calls along the lines of "Hello? Yes, is DI Maldon there, please? No? Can you look for him…"

He buttonholed one of the men as he put the phone down. "Excuse me."

"Sorry, I can't talk right now, we have a problem."

He bent down a little and made eye contact, shoving himself into the man's personal space and dropping his voice to its most authoritative tone. "So do I. My partner, Alex Eames, seems to be missing. She's supposed to be in here. Where is she?"

The other man looked across. "Five said she was working with them this afternoon – isn't she with you? Anyway, they'll know where to find her. Now, I'm sorry, but…"

"What's happening?" He fixed the man with a stern gaze.

"This is an internal matter."

He pointed at the phone. "You just said that you were looking for DI Maldon; has he gone missing?" The man looked stubborn. His companion, evidently a more pragmatic type, replied: "Yes. He came back to chair the meeting this afternoon, then left after an hour to take a phone call. He didn't return. Now, if you'll excuse us…"

He returned to making phone calls. Looking through the glass, they could see police and MI5 officers scurrying around with concerned expressions. He now realised why this was.

"Sienna…"

She completed his sentence. "We need to talk to Five. Now."

They hurried together through Thames House, Goren following Sienna as she led the way back to the meeting room they had been in previously, where Langford was waiting with an impatient expression.

"Where have the two of you been?" Her voice was frighteningly cold, but Goren ignored it.

"Looking for my partner, Alex Eames. She's supposed to be running errands for you; where is she?"

Instead of looking concerned, Langford smiled. "Don't worry, she's fine."

"What are you doing?" His tone was nothing like the one that should be used to address a senior security services officer, and he could see people around the room wincing, but paid it no heed; he would let nothing stand between him and finding Alex Eames.

Langford stood up and met his eye with a steely glare. Even for him, it was an unnerving experience.

"We sent Detective Eames to go to talk about what is supposed to be happening tomorrow with Tanya and Jack Simmons-McAllister. Given their tendency for unnecessary heroics, we wanted to ensure that they understood the importance of staying out of the way this time."

_Those "unnecessary heroics" saved the lives of several thousand people_, he thought, but forced himself not to reply, but simply to hold Langford's gaze.

"Since she was unable to make contact with them immediately, I understand she was asked by DI Tony Maldon to assist him with the ongoing information-gathering process for the prosecution for the trial of the individuals involved in attacking the City of London stadium."

"Assist Maldon? How?" He could feel his unease growing, and didn't care if it showed on his face.

Langford shrugged a shoulder. "They're trying to build up a picture of what members of the Newcomers organisation were doing in the days before the attack. Maldon's team needed a woman police officer to go and speak to some of their family members. We thought that, since your partner is such a respected detective, it would be an effective way to use her expertise."

"You sent her off into London to ask questions of people who might be involved in terrorism without backup!" The volume of his voice caused several people around the table to wince and shrink away, but Langford was unfazed.

"Not at all. Don't worry, Detective, I sent one of my best agents to keep an eye on her."

"Good, because Maldon is now missing." At this, Langford frowned a little, a faint crack showing in her expression. "So you had better call whoever you have with her, and get her back here immediately."

Her voice was icy. "Do not tell me what to do, _Mr_ Goren." She smiled, showing her teeth. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

Her words were interrupted by loud shouts from downstairs. Ignoring Langford, Goren ran for the door, followed closely by Sienna and half the MI5 officers in the room. They followed the sound of the shouts through the building, to be brought up short by two armed police officers blocking a corridor.

"You can't go down here." He folded his arms, blocking the way.

One of the MI5 officers, a blond woman with long hair and a supercilious expression, shoved forwards and showed her badge. "I can go anywhere in here I please, now let me through."

He shook his head. "I can't." He looked concerned for a minute, then explained, "It's a crime scene. Someone's dead."

At his words, a commotion ran through the crowd. "Murder?"

"Who is it?" the woman demanded. Behind them, Goren could hear Langford's heavy footsteps catching up.

"I can't tell you-"

"Yes, you can." Langford came to the front. She did not bother to show her ID badge; there was no need. The police officer took a deep breath.

"DI Maldon, ma'am."


	18. Missing Persons

Chapter Twelve – "Missing Persons"

_Damnit, I wish Eames was here_.

It was half past two in the afternoon, and Bobby Goren was decidedly beginning to feel the effects of a weird combination of jetlag, missed sleep, anticipatory nerves, and the strange _part-of-me-is-missing_ feeling he always got when he was trying to work without Alexandra Eames' familiar presence. Beside him, Sienna looked to be in much the same state of mind. They'd been stuck in the same small, crowded room with a bunch of MI5 officers, going over and over the same plans for tomorrow. He had no idea why. They'd worked out every last detail, and in his opinion it was going to look decidedly odd if he and Sienna were absent for the information-reviewing sessions for the prosecution for the stadium attack much longer, since those were supposedly their reason for being here.

However, Anne Langford seemed determined to work out every detail, dot every _i_, cross every _t_… He was not easily intimidated, but there was something frightening about the woman. She was relentless, a machine, and her eyes were cold. He had rarely seen a harder expression on anyone's face, including several major criminals. _Imagine working for that face every day_, he thought idly. If he'd thought Davenport ruthless, he could see why now. Langford seemed willing to risk anything to resolve the situation with John Durham as speedily as possible, and he had no doubt that she ran her entire department in the same way.

He jumped a little as Sienna's voice jolted him out of his reverie. "Excuse me," she said firmly. Everyone at the table looked up.

"I really feel it's time that we all take a break." She smiled politely in Langford's general direction, who regarded the younger woman with a mixture of amusement and condescension. "Does anyone else object?" She looked around the table at the assembled MI5 staff. None seemed inclined to disagree. Sienna smiled sweetly. "Well, then. Ten minutes?" She barely paused for an answer before rising to her feet.

They left the room together. Sienna appeared to know where she was going, and he followed her to a small space with chairs scattered around and a couple of vending machines. "You can get better reception here," she explained, retrieving her cellphone and putting it on the table in front of her. "Of course, you never know who's listening in around here. I'm going to get something to eat."

"Good idea." He watched her cellphone as Sienna walked across to buy a bar of chocolate from the machine. It rang just as she was fishing in her purse for some small change. "Bobby, could you get that?"

"Of course." He picked up the phone and checked the display. It showed "Tanya". He shrugged and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Si- oh, hi there. Is that, uh, Bobby?"

"Yes, it's me."

"Oh, maybe you can help me." Tanya's voice sounded a little puzzled.

"Uh… sure."

"Do you know where Alex is?"

"Downstairs, I think – we're all in meetings at the moment."

"Huh? She was meant to be meeting me and Jack at our house half an hour ago."

"Huh?" He frowned at the phone. "Sorry, what?"

"She phoned me a while ago, saying she wanted to meet me and Jack for a chat – I guess it's about what we've got planned for tonight. I was at the hospital, she said she was going to meet us at our house, but we arranged that she'd be here half an hour ago, and I haven't heard anything. Have you got her phone number?"

He frowned, feeling uneasy. "I'll call her and get her to call you." Beside him, he saw Sienna's quizzical frown. He held up a hand and signalled _Wait_ to her with his expression. She nodded and looked concerned as he called Eames' cell.

No reply. He tried again, this time standing next to the window to maximise the reception. All that got him was a slightly clearer-sounding "the number you have called is not available" message. He looked across at Sienna. "Sienna, could you try calling Eames?"

She nodded and frowned. "Of course, is there something wrong? Isn't she downstairs?"

"Could you just try?"

"Okay." She took her cellphone from him and called Eames' number. She listened for a minute and shook her head. "Nothing. Why?"

He explained about her being supposed to meet Tanya and Jack. Sienna frowned. "That's odd, why didn't they tell us?" She pressed a few buttons on her cell and made a quick call. "Listen, Tanni, it's me, Sisi – no, we can't get hold of her either. We're going to go have a look for her, then I'll call you straight back."

They looked at each other and walked hurriedly towards the stairs. Sienna tugged his arm. "Bobby, let's go this way – it'll get us to where she's supposed to be faster and we can avoid getting dragged back in with Langford's team." He nodded, and followed her through the maze of corridors. They were almost running by the time they arrived at the room where the meeting Eames was supposed to be having was being held, only to find it in a state of apparent confusion. There were only two men in the room, both of whom appeared to be making repeated calls along the lines of "Hello? Yes, is DI Maldon there, please? No? Can you look for him…"

He buttonholed one of the men as he put the phone down. "Excuse me."

"Sorry, I can't talk right now, we have a problem."

He bent down a little and made eye contact, shoving himself into the man's personal space and dropping his voice to its most authoritative tone. "So do I. My partner, Alex Eames, seems to be missing. She's supposed to be in here. Where is she?"

The other man looked across. "Five said she was working with them this afternoon – isn't she with you? Anyway, they'll know where to find her. Now, I'm sorry, but…"

"What's happening?" He fixed the man with a stern gaze.

"This is an internal matter."

He pointed at the phone. "You just said that you were looking for DI Maldon; has he gone missing?" The man looked stubborn. His companion, evidently a more pragmatic type, replied: "Yes. He came back to chair the meeting this afternoon, then left after an hour to take a phone call. He didn't return. Now, if you'll excuse us…"

He returned to making phone calls. Looking through the glass, they could see police and MI5 officers scurrying around with concerned expressions. He now realised why this was.

"Sienna…"

She completed his sentence. "We need to talk to Five. Now."

They hurried together through Thames House, Goren following Sienna as she led the way back to the meeting room they had been in previously, where Langford was waiting with an impatient expression.

"Where have the two of you been?" Her voice was frighteningly cold, but Goren ignored it.

"Looking for my partner, Alex Eames. She's supposed to be running errands for you; where is she?"

Instead of looking concerned, Langford smiled. "Don't worry, she's fine."

"What are you doing?" His tone was nothing like the one that should be used to address a senior security services officer, and he could see people around the room wincing, but paid it no heed; he would let nothing stand between him and finding Alex Eames.

Langford stood up and met his eye with a steely glare. Even for him, it was an unnerving experience.

"We sent Detective Eames to go to talk about what is supposed to be happening tomorrow with Tanya and Jack Simmons-McAllister. Given their tendency for unnecessary heroics, we wanted to ensure that they understood the importance of staying out of the way this time."

_Those "unnecessary heroics" saved the lives of several thousand people_, he thought, but forced himself not to reply, but simply to hold Langford's gaze.

"Since she was unable to make contact with them immediately, I understand she was asked by DI Tony Maldon to assist him with the ongoing information-gathering process for the prosecution for the trial of the individuals involved in attacking the City of London stadium."

"Assist Maldon? How?" He could feel his unease growing, and didn't care if it showed on his face.

Langford shrugged a shoulder. "They're trying to build up a picture of what members of the Newcomers organisation were doing in the days before the attack. Maldon's team needed a woman police officer to go and speak to some of their family members. We thought that, since your partner is such a respected detective, it would be an effective way to use her expertise."

"You sent her off into London to ask questions of people who might be involved in terrorism without backup!" The volume of his voice caused several people around the table to wince and shrink away, but Langford was unfazed.

"Not at all. Don't worry, Detective, I sent one of my best agents to keep an eye on her."

"Good, because Maldon is now missing." At this, Langford frowned a little, a faint crack showing in her expression. "So you had better call whoever you have with her, and get her back here immediately."

Her voice was icy. "Do not tell me what to do, _Mr_ Goren." She smiled, showing her teeth. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

Her words were interrupted by loud shouts from downstairs. Ignoring Langford, Goren ran for the door, followed closely by Sienna and half the MI5 officers in the room. They followed the sound of the shouts through the building, to be brought up short by two armed police officers blocking a corridor.

"You can't go down here." He folded his arms, blocking the way.

One of the MI5 officers, a blond woman with long hair and a supercilious expression, shoved forwards and showed her badge. "I can go anywhere in here I please, now let me through."

He shook his head. "I can't." He looked concerned for a minute, then explained, "It's a crime scene. Someone's dead."

At his words, a commotion ran through the crowd. "Murder?"

"Who is it?" the woman demanded. Behind them, Goren could hear Langford's heavy footsteps catching up.

"I can't tell you-"

"Yes, you can." Langford came to the front. She did not bother to show her ID badge; there was no need. The police officer took a deep breath.

"DI Maldon, ma'am."

***

**Interlude: What Happened at Glastonbury: "Time For Some Warmth". **

"I want serving! Oi! You! I've bin standing here for hours, now fucking serve me!"

"Sorry, are you talking to me?" I watched as Jack McAllister turned round from the table behind the bar where he'd been swiftly counting out change for the last bar order he'd taken, to come face to face with a young, shaven-headed man who had already been served several times in several bars, from the looks of things. Behind me, I was aware of Tanya and Drew looking up from the beer dispenser to take an interest, though they had both apparently decided to let Jack handle it unless things got violent.

"Yeah, I've bin stood here for hours!"

Jack fixed him with an unamused stare. "So has everyone else. The flood's knocked out the beer pumps, so if you want beer you'll have to wait for us to pour it from the cask."

"I want serving!"

"So does everybody else, and they're all managing to wait their turn politely. Look, there's a huge queue because the bar's electrics aren't working, we're all in the same boat. You'll get served in your turn, but speak to me like that again and you'll be leaving the bar."

Jack turned away to serve the next person in the huge press of people who were swamping the bar we were serving at. I silently applauded and reflected, not for the first time, that to survive as a short, unassuming, straight male with Tanya as his wife and Drew (more macho than many straight guys I'd met) as his best friend, Jack must secretly have the self-confidence of a rock.

_Yes, he's lovely. But, he's not yours and not ever going to be_, I thought wryly, watching Tanya beaming with pride at her beloved husband. Fortunately, Jack appeared to have no recollection whatsoever of anything happening last night between he and I, although realistically that was because nothing really had happened, I'd just come too close to going over the line.

Beside me, Drew smirked as he swiftly collected a round of drinks from the table behind the bar. He had been smirking, just a little, since we'd started work here. I looked across and met his eye, and suddenly knew exactly what he was thinking. _What a fucking absurd situation… If these people knew who's serving their drinks, if they knew what I _really_ do for a living_…

I grinned back. It was funny, I had to admit, seeing one of MI5's top agents running around behind a bar at a music festival, looking like nothing so much as a student on the run from his exams. As I swiftly tidied the bar and loaded some more whisky and vodka bottles into the optics (with no beer on tap, we were selling spirits like they were going out of fashion) I wondered a little at the fact that Drew _had_ joined us. He could surely afford a much better holiday than this, in fact, he could simply have paid for a festival ticket without needing to work to get in.

Then again, the bond between Tanya, Drew and Jack ran very deep. Their jobs might keep them busy, but on occasions when any of us had any free time, it was rare to find one of us without the others. I was lucky, I supposed, that they'd let me join in, but with them, I could be me. The thought brought a smile to my face. I loved them all, I thought. The four of us together could do anything. The thought cheered me up, making me think that maybe, just maybe, I could find someone else, a partner for me, and then there would be five of us.

Somehow I couldn't quite picture Drew, king of the one-night-stand, doing that, so a five we would surely become…

"Oi, y' short little git!"

It was the same man again, yelling at Jack. I looked up sharply, and noticed that the bar's security staff, already struggling to keep on top of things given the huge mass of people pressed into the tent, were down at the other end of the bar dealing with someone who had tried to run off without paying. Beside me, I could sense Drew readying himself, and muttered a short and sincere prayer that this wasn't going to end badly.

As Tanya strode past both of us, it looked as though my prayer would not be answered.

"That's it. You can get out the bar, we're not serving you." Jack had already stepped back from the bar. Tanya fixed the drunken man straight in the eye with her very best _your name's not down, so you're not coming in_ look. She had at one point worked on the door at a club in London, and I suspected this guy was about to find out why it had had a reputation as being one of the toughest places in the East End.

"You're not fucking servin' me anyway! I want a fucking drink!"

"You're not getting one. Get out the bar so we can serve someone else."

"I wanna complain to the manager!"

"Well, he doesn't want to listen to you. You're being rude to me, you're being rude to my husband, and you're stopping everyone else getting served. Leave, now, or I'll have security throw you out." Tanya pointedly turned away to serve someone else, although with the benefit of nearly a year's training with her, I could see that she was watching him very carefully with her peripheral vision. Suddenly, the man reached across the bar to grab her by the arm.

"Listen, you stuck-up fat…"

The rest of his words were lost in a squeal of pain as Tanya grabbed his hand, pried it off her arm and trapped it against her breastbone in one fluid motion, crushing the top of his thumb at the same time. I had had this done to me once in the dojo with about half the force she was currently employing, and it had hurt like hell. Controlling him with her grip on his hand, she leaned over and snarled: "Fuck. Off. Out. Of. My. Bar. Leave now, or I _will_ throw you out of here."

I ran swiftly down the bar to signal the security staff, who had heard the commotion and were making their way through the crowd as fast as possible. They arrived just in time to grab the guy by the arms and hustle him swiftly out, still whining in pain.

Tanya turned to the rest of the crowd, who'd gone quiet, beamed widely, and asked "Now, who's next?" Beside me, Drew was quietly laughing his head off.

"What's happening?" The slightly harassed voice of Simon, the bar manager, echoed from the back of the tent, where he'd been in deep conversation with his walkie-talkie for the past ten minutes.

"Oh, nothing, just someone being a bit awkward," Tanya replied with an innocent smile. "Nothing we couldn't handle."

"Excellent. Listen, guys, I need to ask a favour. I need two people to go work on one of the other bars up near the Green Fields, they're short-staffed. It's the Jazz Café, nice quiet bar, but I know it's a bit of a hike – any volunteers?"

I looked around at the chaos of the bar. As two of the biggest and strongest people behind the bar, Tanya and Amp were much in demand, taking it in turns to lug huge heavy trays of drinks around and help change the metal barrels of cider and beer. Drew, Jack and Mark were running back and forth serving, whilst I was on duty keeping the bar tidy and stocked up with drink.

As I contemplated my aching feet, I really hoped the battered women of south-west London appreciated all we were doing for them. Then again, they probably had other things to worry about.

"SiSi and I could go," Drew's voice surprised me. Tanya raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"

"Yeah. They need you and Amp here, and where you stay, Jack stays. Besides, it'll be a nice chance for SiSi to see a bit more of the festival, now that she's got her wellies."

"Oh, har-de-fucking-har," I muttered and glared at him.

He grinned back. "Come on, SiSi, you and me, it'll be fun! Bit of an adventure. Let's do it!"

I surrendered to the inevitable. It was possible to resist Drew. It was just that it usually took more energy than just doing whatever he wanted to do in the first place would. I smiled at Simon. "Okay, I'm in."

"Excellent. Guys, you're lifesavers! Here," and he beckoned us into the bar. "Keep this a secret, but you can have these-" and he gave us each an extra voucher for a free drink. "I'm giving everyone an extra voucher at the end of their shifts, I know it's not been easy today. Thanks."

"No problem," I replied, and began to collect my stuff, scowling unhappily as I pulled on my clammy waterproofs from the rest area at the back of the bar. The rain had slowed down, and there was talk of sunshine for tomorrow, but for now the Festival resembled nothing so much as a swamp with tents and a big stage. Amazingly, the music was still going on. I could hear the White Stripes in the background, "Seven Nation Army" blasting out across the field to wild cheers.

Say what you liked about the British, they really weren't going to be stopped from partying by a bit of mud. So far, though, I had to say the Festival really wasn't doing too much for me.

_I want to go home_.

I stomped firmly on the thought and followed Drew out into the cold. It had stopped raining, giving the mud time to dry to a sticky consistency that was like wading through thick glue. I had to yank my feet out of the mud with every step, whilst at the same time avoiding the crowds and keeping an eye on Drew in the semi-darkness. Suddenly, my foot slipped. There was a few moments flailing about before the inevitable happened and I fell backwards into the mud. I writhed around trying to stand up, but the vile stuff had the consistency of glue.

Suddenly, four hands appeared out of nowhere, and thrust themselves under my armpits, yanking me upwards with great enthusiasm and slightly too much force, though I wasn't complaining. The hands turned out to be attached to two cheerful Australians.

"Thanks, guys."

"No worries." They ambled off through the mud. I tried to dust myself off, not easy in a muddy field. Where the hell was Drew? As if in response to my thought, he appeared in front of me.

"What happened?"

"I fell on my ass in the mud," I replied, realising I'd jettisoned my dignity some time back.

He chuckled. I tried to chuckle too, since it was kind of funny. It didn't fool Drew.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm tired, Drew. I'm tired and I'm hungry…"

"… and you wanna go home?"

"Yes. Yes, actually. I really, really want to go home."

He reached out and gently clasped my shoulders, looking me straight in the eye. I reflected, not for the first time, that whilst Drew would not be called handsome, he really did have pretty grey eyes. Too pretty, according to him, too memorable for a spy who had to be able to fade into the background, although I hadn't seen him complaining when those same eyes helped him turn the charm on like a tap. Drew had a _really_ good fake look of sincerity. Right now, though, I felt I was getting actual sincerity.

"Look, SiSi, this is normal. Whenever you go to the Festival, you have your Glastonbury Moment, and your Glastonbury Anti-Moment. The Moment is when something happens, like when a band hits the perfect chord or you see the sun rise over the Stone Circle, and it's the most perfect moment imaginable, and you know that everyone else around you is feeling the same way, and it could never happen anywhere else but here, and for the rest of your year, you get to take that moment with you.

And then you have your Glastonbury Anti-Moment, when you're cold, you're wet, you're stuck in a muddy field miles away from home and you just want to have a shower and lie down in your own bed, and you realise you're trapped for the next few days until the coach arrives to take you home. And what you do when _that_ happens is, you find the nearest café and order the largest cup of tea and the largest chocolate bun they have for sale. Right now, you're having an Anti-Moment, and you need the cure."

"Drew, we're meant to be working…"

"And soon we will be, but really, you think they'll even notice that we stopped on the way? It'll take at least half an hour to get there. Drink and bun, now."

"How is this cure meant to work, anyway?"

"By the time you've finished drinking the tea and eating the bun, you've usually forgotten what it was you were upset about. And even if you haven't, you've just enjoyed a nice drink and a bun, and the world is always a better place after that."

Drew's head moved from side to side, scoping out likely sources of tea and buns. I eagerly pointed out a stall where the owner had just hung out a sign proudly proclaiming "Newly Born Chocolate Brownie", and we set off towards that. Drew ushered me to a seat on a wooden bench, playing the gentleman.

"Brownie for you? I'm paying."

"Drew…"

"No." He wagged a finger. "I got you into this, therefore, the tea and bun is on me. Large chocolate brownie for you? Come on, you've lost so much weight you could eat two of them and it wouldn't show."

"And _coffee_. Latte, actually. I do not drink tea."

"Bloody Americans and your coffee," Drew rolled his eyes theatrically.

"How come you don't drink it, anyway?"

"SiSi, can you imagine me on coffee?"

I pretended to shudder. "I'd rather not." He ordered the cakes and drinks and we settled ourselves at a table nearby. One large chocolate brownie and a latte later, and I was feeling a lot better.

"Better?"

"Yeah…" I stared at the mud.

"Come on." He looked at his watch. "Just one hours left to go, then we've finished work and the night is ours."

"Yeah."

"Okay, you know what? I hereby make you a promise that you, Sienna Tovitz, will be warm, clean, dry, and sleeping in a bed by the end of the night."

"Really."

"Really."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you're a professional liar."

"Would I lie to you?"

"Hmm…" I pursed my lips.

He nudged me in the ribs. "Come on. We can do this."

We set off again through the mud. "How are you going to manage this?"

"I'm not telling you."

"Oh yeah, you're bullshitting me."

"Okay, after that, I am _not_ telling you. You'll just have to wonder for the next two hours how I'm going to manage it…"


	19. Playing the Bad Game

And I'm back, with a sincere and heartfelt apology for the delay in getting this ready. I can best describe the reasons as "Personal stuff". I really am sorry for anyone who has been waiting to read how this goes. I never meant for it to take so long to get it posted. But I'm back now, and I want to post up the rest of the chapters as fast as I can. If you read them, I do hope you enjoy finding out what becomes of Bobby and Sienna!

_Oh shit_. The crowd of assorted police officers and security services agents behind him was babbling frantically at this revelation, but Bobby Goren tuned them out almost automatically. His mind suddenly went crystal clear, as it sometimes did at moments when he knew the next few minutes in a case would be crucial.

"How?"

The police officer looked slightly unnerved by Langford's short question, but answered promptly enough. "We're still waiting for the-" Her glare cut his words short. "Unofficially, ma'am, it looks like suicide."

"Looks like?"

The man's expression didn't change, but his skin went paler. "It looks like he cut his wrists, ma'am."

Langford's expression set into a mask. "I see. Thank you, officer." She turned to face the assembled crowd. "Back to work, now. This is a matter for the police to investigate, and we have work to do." The crowd dispersed under her steely glare.

Except for Goren, who positioned himself in front of her. He did not break eye contact with her, but was aware via his peripheral vision of Sienna standing beside him, also of the young blonde woman who had spoken earlier lurking in the background.

"This includes the two of you," Langford said, very calmly. "We have less than a day…"

"Neither of us is going anywhere until I personally hear from my partner that she's okay," Goren said, with equal calmness. Langford's gaze flicked from him to Sienna. Seeing a united front, she raised her eyebrows, nodded to the woman behind them, and indicated that they should follow her.

They ended up back in Langford's own office. She motioned for Goren to use the phone to make the call again. He willed his hand not to shake as he punched in the digits, fearing even as he did so that he already knew the likely outcome.

"_The number you have dialled is not available. Please try later. The number you have dialled…" _

"No answer." He looked across at Langford, well aware that she was officially due far more respect than he was about to give her, and that tomorrow his and Sienna's lives would be in the hands of MI5 …_but Eames' life could be in danger right now_. "You said you had someone watching her. Either get in contact with that person now, or get hold of someone who can track Eames' cellphone to its last known location." He cut across Langford's comment with his most forceful tone: "My partner is missing somewhere in London, and the person who sent her out there is now dead. _You need to find her_."

Langford's eyes went icy cold. "Very well." She pressed the intercom button on her phone. "What's the last known location of Watchman?"

Beside him, Goren felt Sienna start slightly; glancing sideways, he saw her eyes go very wide.

She listened. "I see. How soon can you have backup on the scene? They're on their way? Good." She put the phone down and turned to face them, but it was Sienna who spoke first.

"That's Dr- Davenport, isn't it? You have him watching Eames?"

Langford raised an eyebrow. "He told you his codename?"

"No, I guessed, and you just confirmed it." Sienna smiled. Langford was unfazed.

"As I said, I have one of my best agents looking out for her-"

"Who needs backup? Davenport needs backup? Maldon is dead and Eames is missing – what the hell is going on?" Sienna sounded as angry as Goren felt, but he did not look at her, focussing instead on Langford. He had a truly horrible suspicion…

"When we lost contact with Watchman and his subject, naturally we dispatched backup – the situation is under control."

"No." Goren's voice cut across her almost before he was aware he was speaking, a lifetime of policing instincts taking over. He stepped closer to her, cocked his head on one side and peered at her. "You're saying that, but your voice has lost its lower vibrations… your vocal chords have tensed up now. But you weren't tense before, even though a police officer committed suicide in this building…"

The truth hit him. "You… you didn't so much as blink when you were told about Maldon. It wasn't a surprise to you, was it? Did you have him under surveillance?"

Langford regarded him as though he were an interesting species of insect, and she was trying to decide whether to observe him through a magnifying glass, or crush him under her boot.

"Very well." She smiled thinly. "Yes, we had Maldon under surveillance. He's been acting erratically of late."

"You suspected that he was – what? Being blackmailed? Corrupt? And you let him send Eames out there without warning her?" Goren felt his heart rate rise, and he had to force himself not to clench his fists. The blonde woman from earlier was standing at the back of the room, and he had no doubt that even the slightest hint of physical threat to Langford could result in his being physically removed from the room, or worse. He felt Sienna lean forward beside him.

"How… how _dare_ you risk her life without warning her!" Sienna's very quietness emphasised her anger more than any amount of shouting, and her face was almost frightening in its intensity.

"Very, very easily." Langford replied as calmly and peacefully as if she were discussing the weather. As Sienna opened her mouth again, she leaned forward with an expression of such frightening disdain that even Goren was temporarily struck silent.

"Do not presume to say anything, Ms Tovitz. Do not presume to judge my actions, do not presume to judge me, and do not presume to judge how I choose to keep my country safe. If DI Maldon has been got to by the people he's supposed to be investigating, that jeopardises our entire investigation, and I need proof as soon as possible. This is the fastest way. Davenport will keep her safe."

"You can't possibly know that! He's not a one-man army!" Goren felt fear clenching at his stomach at the thought of Andrew Davenport being all that Alex Eames had standing between her and, from the sounds of it, a bunch of ruthless terrorists.

"Perhaps you and Ms Tovitz should show a little more faith in Davenport's ability to get himself and others out of trouble. He has always been one of my best agents." There was not a trace of concern in Langford's voice.

Sienna snorted. "Now it's _you_ engaging in wishful thinking, Ms Langford. Does it make you feel better, to think that the people whose lives you risk had a chance of survival? Help you sleep at night?"

"I sleep well at night knowing that I serve my country, Ms Tovitz, and if you think that the people who protect _your_ country and provide your organisation with information operate any differently to us, you are very, very sadly mistaken."

An even more horrible thought occurred to Goren. "Does he even know why you sent him to watch Eames, or did you just tell him to keep a general eye out for her?"

Langford's expression was all the answer either of them needed.

"You have sent our friends and colleagues out to be used as bait." He had a sudden alarming fear that Sienna would faint, her face was so pale, but she braced herself and stayed on her feet.

"Yes. Why so surprised?" Langford fixed the younger woman with a truly frightening glower. "That was what you wanted to do yourself!"

Her voice was cut off by the sudden arrival into the room of a young, anxious-looking man with an earpiece. He took in the situation, then looked at Langford for orders, who impatiently snapped: "Is this to do with Watchman?"

"Yes. We need you in the situation room now."

"Very well." Langford moved with surprising speed. "Goren, Tovitz… wait here." As they showed signs of ignoring her, she fixed them with a gimlet expression. "Do not even think of leaving this office, or I'll have you both arrested. Do not for one moment think I will hesitate to do that, nor that either of your respective organisations will be able to bail you out. Stay. Here." She turned and left, nodding to the blonde woman at the back, who sidled across to the door and stood in front of it.

He was mentally weighing up their options, when Sienna spoke first. "Amelia."

The blonde woman made eye contact with her. Her expression was thoughtful.

Sienna tried again. "Amelia, you owe Drew a lot. Thanks to him, I hear you made Senior Case Officer last year, it's pretty rare for them to have two in one team, isn't it? You owe him, and you're in a position to help us help him now."

The woman screwed up her face thoughtfully. "That's one way of looking at it. The other way being that my boss gave me a direct order not to let you out of the room."

Sienna's voice was soft, pleading. "Please… I'm not asking you to do anything other than tell me what's going on." She eyed the woman's earpiece meaningfully.

"That's not transmitting anything at the moment." As Sienna's face fell, the corners of the other woman's mouth quirked slightly. "But as for this one…" She touched the side of her neck, then touched the back of her earpiece. Her face fell into an expression of concentration, then concern.

"Watch- Davenport's last report said that he had tailed the subject and her companion-" His surprise was mirrored on Sienna's face "- to an abandoned warehouse, I've got the location. No further reports."

"Davenport isn't sending in regular reports?" Goren interjected.

She frowned and shook her head. "There's something blocking radio and cellphone transmissions in the area. Wait…" She listened for a short while, then frowned, and Goren felt his stomach turn to ice.

Her expression was grave. "There was an explosion-"

He felt fear grip his heart…

"- on the road leading to the warehouse."

"Is there any report of any other explosions?" Goren asked frantically.

"No. Nothing…" She concentrated. "Infrared scans of the area indicate that there are at least nine people in the warehouse."

"They could still be alive." Sienna's voice was tight, relief and anxiety mixed together.

Amelia frowned. "They could, but they can't easily get backup there – the road is completely destroyed." She shook her face, and her expression was sympathetic. "I'm sorry."

"No. No, no, no!" Sienna yelled, then cut herself off as he frantically shook his head at her. "There has to be another way!"

"We're doing everything we can."

"Just like you did when you sent them out there to die?"

The MI5 officer glared at Sienna. "I didn't make that decision, Ms Tovitz. I'm sorry about this, but I've done what I can."

"No, you haven't." Sienna's voice was suddenly urgent. "Give me the location."

"I can't do that." Her expression softened. "I really am sorry."

"Senior Case Officer Jenkins." Sienna's tone shifted to one of polite command. "I understand that four weeks ago, a lorryload of asylum seekers from Iraq were found suffocated in a port outside Dover. Amongst them was one of your agents, a man named… well," she nodded at Goren, "You and I both know who he was." She leaned in and went for the kill. "How would you like to be known as the woman who apprehended his killer? It would look remarkably good in the papers, wouldn't it? "Thanks to the diligence of the security services, the men responsible for the deaths of twenty people, including three children, were captured in southern France today…" Not to mention the fact that you'll have your hands on the man who killed your agent."

Jenkins' expression went predatory. "You can get me that information? Why haven't we heard this before?"

"Because it's not an official source- it's one I've cultivated. You'll need to think of an excuse to go and look there… but I'm sure Sir Harry's team will be able to help if you mention that they have links to several known major terrorist organisations."

"How do I know you can do this?"

"Your agent's codename was Abyss. His real name was…" Sienna leaned forward and whispered several words into Jenkins' ear.

She pursued her lips and considered for a while. "Very well." She quickly wrote an address on a piece of paper, shoved it into Sienna's hand, then touched her earpiece. "I need backup in room 516, immediately!"

Barely half a minute later, two uniformed and armed police officers appeared through the door.

"Escort these two from the building, and watch them until they are safely back into their hotel. I don't wish them to be on the premises for more than a minute longer than necessary." Jenkins' voice was clipped. The officers nodded, and stepped forward. Goren and Sienna found themselves being marshalled out of the building, and into a waiting car. Barely a few minutes later, they found themselves back in their hotel room. Barely half a minute later, he'd kicked the door shut, put the television on, then swept Sienna straight into his arms, murmuring as he did so: "Pretend to cry… bury your head in my shoulder…"

She did so, turning her head so that her mouth was near his ear, but blocked from any cameras by his arm, wrapped around her shoulders.

"Sienna…" He murmured carefully, trying to make it look as though he was consoling her for the shock of finding out that their friends were likely to die. "If we so much as try to get near them, MI5 will find out."

"Bobby… I know someone who can help us."

He took a deep breath. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"We can't possibly leave…"

"I didn't mean _we_, I meant _you_. If you want… I'll do this. Give me the name of your contact, and I'll… make the arrangements." Her felt her start to argue with him, and talked over the top of her voice, "I'll do this for Eames. I can't stand by and let her die, and I don't want you to lose your job and go to prison. Better only one of us suffers…"

"No. No, Bobby, I would never ask you to do that, and I can't, anyway. This has to be done in person, and it has to be done by me. So, I have to ask _you_…"

"No. I'm not abandoning you, or Eames. The hell with our jobs."

She mimed wiping her face and clasped his hand hard. "Together, then. Let's go."

***

**Interlude: What Happened at Glastonbury, Part 7: Sort Of Like Heaven**

_Note: Yes, you do get saunas at Glastonbury. I'd be lying if I said this isn't based on a real one, but any resemblance of made-up people to real people is entirely unintended. Also, I'm taking a little dramatic license here and there. _

"Okay, the shift is over. I am waiting on the warmth," I grinned tiredly at Drew, who was munching on something called a Heidi Pie. The name was a little worrying, but it turned out to be a pie with goat's cheese in. I wished I'd had one myself: one thing I could get into about the festival was that everyone ate whatever they felt like, whenever they felt like eating it.

Then again, I wasn't Drew, whose metabolism only had to _look_ at a calorie to burn it. Lucky bastard.

"Then walk this way." Drew gestured theatrically towards a metal pathway through the mud, wiping crumbs off his mouth with the back of his other hand. Amazingly, it had stopped raining, so now we only had a cold, muddy night to survive. I thought about the long journey back to our tents and sleeping bags, and put it out of my mind. Maybe we could find an all-night café or something and crash there, sleep with our heads on the table or something.

I read the sign as we hurried past it. It read, _Green Fields_. The "healing area" of the festival, I vaguely remembered. Probably filled with aging hippies and dope-smoking teenagers, but the alternative to trusting Drew was a long walk back through the mud to our campsite, so what the hell.

We set off, but I soon fell behind. My legs were shorter than his, and the mud made it impossible to hurry. Drew eventually realised I wasn't walking beside him, and doubled back before I vanished completely in the crowd.

"Okay, this isn't going to work. Here," Drew muttered, and threw an arm around my waist, effectively clamping me onto his side. We wandered along like participants in a bizarre three-legged race; we must have looked like boyfriend and girlfriend, but at least we wouldn't lose each other. I looked up at Drew, who seemed, unusually, lost in silent thought.

"Что Вы думаете?" I asked, switching to Russian. Both Drew and I spoke it fluently, me more so than him, since I had spoken it since I was a baby, but Drew could pass for a native speaker if he had to.

He smiled briefly, then repeated in Russian, "What am I thinking?" He chuckled softly. "I was thinking, believe it or not, that heaven must look a bit like this." As we passed a block of latrines, he hastily added "With better toilets, obviously…"

"_Heaven_? You're sure you're not thinking of the other place?"

"Well, maybe not right now. But you're not seeing it at its best. When the mud dries out, you'll see it."

"What will I see?"

"Happiness. People come together here. They talk to each other, they argue, they make music and art and have sex and look after each other. Everyone has something to eat and drink, and somewhere to sleep. No-one's here to fight. People want to be here to create things. I think that's about as good as it can get for human beings."

"Is that why you come here?"

He smiled wryly. "What, to remind myself what we fight for? Yes. It's no bad thing to remind yourself that most people aren't complete bastards, particularly in our line of work. If you haven't got something to fight for, you can lose it and burn out completely."

"I hear you." And I did. A similar impulse had propelled me out of London to join Drew, Tanya and Jack at the festival despite my misgivings. I wanted to believe that there were still places in the world when people lived normal lives and did fun things, where I didn't have to contend with people for whom the notion of selling other people's bodies for profit was an acceptable way of doing business. More than once this year I'd come close to quitting my job, but I'd resisted in the end.

Partly it was pride, not wanting to admit I couldn't hack it. But mostly it was the knowledge that I couldn't walk away from the fight, not once I'd see what the organised crime rings my organisation devoted so much time and money to fighting did to the women and children who fell into their clutches.

I glanced up at Drew. His face was grave, and for once it had lost that oddly boyish look. I was reminded that he was older than me, in his early thirties. He was, I knew, one of the only agents of all those he had trained with when he first joined MI5 still active in the field. The others had moved upwards into management, burned out, quit, or been killed.

I wondered, not for the first time, what sort of person Drew might have been, had he not worked for MI5 for so long. He had been recruited by them when he was barely twenty-one years old. MI5 had enabled him to leave his job as a police officer and go to university, and he had served them ever since he had graduated. Over ten years of his life had been spent as an undercover agent. Perhaps more: I didn't find it hard to believe that MI5 wouldn't have made use of him during the year he'd spent studying Russia in Moscow. It was difficult to say, mainly because it was so difficult to imagine him in any other line of work.

I firmly pushed away all thoughts of work, and smiled quickly at Drew. "I thought you didn't believe in heaven?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Well, _if_ heaven existed, it would look like this, then."

"A bit commercial for heaven, isn't it?"

He grinned a little wistfully. "It used to be less commercial… when Jack and I first came here, we jumped the fence, back in the old days. Even so… There's about nine different festivals happening right here, SiSi, and one of them is very commercial. This is the one that isn't," he concluded, gesturing towards a large sign overhead that read "Healing Fields" in looping script.

"You're planning to heal me?"

He smiled. "You wanted to be warm, and this has the warmest place in the entire festival."

"I look forward to that." And as I accompanied Drew towards wherever it was, I resisted the urge to raise at least one of my own eyebrows.

Drew was a very good liar, but I'd known him a while, and I'd have sworn he'd just lied to me. What _had_ he been thinking?

***

"Well, this is it."

I stared at it. "It's a sauna? In a truck?"

"Yup."

I stared some more at a large patchwork tent, with what looked like a converted grocery truck parked beside it. A sign outside proclaimed it was a sauna and invited us inside.

"It's a sauna in a truck."

"SiSi. You wanted to be warm. This is the warmest, cleanest place in the entire festival right now."

"I don't have… anything with me."

"They have towels."

"Yeah, I'll bet they don't have bathing suits."

"Oh come off it. You're half-Russian. I've been to Russia. Sitting naked in a hot sauna is part of everyday life over there, like drinking vodka and dying young."

"Yes, but… that's Russia. It's not _here_."

Drew laughed. "What, you think every British person is reserved? That anyone in there is going to give a shit that you're naked?" He looked at me. "Sometimes I can't figure you out at all."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Sometimes you're American SiSi, sometimes you're Russian SiSi, sometimes you're neither."

"_You_ can talk. Half the time you carry on like the gay James Bond, the rest of the time you piss people off for the hell of it, and… when you're not doing that, you make stupid innunendoes like part of you is permanently seventeen!"

"Which part?"

I stared at him, then suddenly burst out laughing, and he joined in.

"Is it me?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Is it because of me? Because I'll be there?"

"No, it's not that…" Actually, it was partly because of that. Partly that, partly the fact that I still wasn't used to the fact that my body was permanently altered, that anyone who looked closely would see that I'd been shot, that the outside of me, like the inside, now carried a permanent mark.

There was no way I could say any of that to Drew, who had a scar over his left shoulder where someone had thrown a knife at his throat and missed. He wore that scar proudly, and loved making up stories about how he'd got it.

What was I supposed to say about mine if anyone asked? "Yeah, I got that when I got shot, because I tried to play undercover agent to nail my corrupt lying bastard ex-cop boyfriend, only it all went to shit." Oh yeah, that was going to go down well with any potential new partners.

Then again, I was fucked if I was going to let John Durham screw up the rest of my life, as well as the last year. I looked at Drew, then at the sign in front of the door. It informed us that quietly entertaining people were welcome, and that naked people had the right to refuse entry to clothed ones. Fuck it, it wasn't like Drew hadn't seen me naked before anyway and I had to get used to this.

"I'm in. Turnaround is fair play."

"Mmm?"

I did my very best impression of Drew. "Hey, you've seen it all before… time _I_ saw _you_."

"Shall we, then?" He made a theatrical bow. We wandered on in, to be met by a cheerful man holding a cup of tea and some towels. "Have you been here before?"

"I have, she hasn't, but it's a sauna, right?"

"No health conditions either of you has?"

"Nope, we're good. Just cold and muddy."

"Do you need towels?"

"Please." Drew took some towels, then threw some money in a large hat in the centre of the tent. I looked around. People in various stages of undress were sprawling around within the tent, which had a tiny fireplace, complete with tin-can chimney, in the centre. It was amazingly well-behaved for a Friday night at a festival; the strongest thing I could see anyone drinking was herbal tea.

Mostly, people seemed content just to loll around, chat and play cards, although the deck looked more like a Tarot deck than an ordinary one. The inevitable guitar had been brought out and was being gently strummed by a young man wearing a large woollen hat and little else.

I realised that Drew had been right about there being several festivals going on. These people couldn't have been further removed from the wild, drunk, partying crowd in front of the Pyramid Stage. I also realised that I was expected to throw some money in the hat, so I did so, and followed Drew into the back. He shed his clothes swiftly and disappeared into the back of the truck. I paused, looked around. I could scent incense burning in the distance. From beside me came a couple of shrieks, as people jumped into the "cold pool". From what I could see, it was basically an old cold-water cistern with the top cut off and a milky mixture of disinfectant and water slopping around inside it.

I shrugged, then skinned out of my clothes, taking off the fanny pack I'd been wearing around my waist for the past day. It felt weird not to be wearing it, so I fastened the buckle and looped it over my shoulder like a purse. Part of me knew why I was doing that. These days, I was used to carrying a gun, but there was no way at all that any of us could have gone armed to the festival. Not that Jack ever would carry a weapon, and Tanya didn't often feel the need. Drew would understand though, I thought. I felt naked, and _not_ in a good way.

Rationally, I knew I had nothing to fear. If anything, I was safer here than I had been in the past year. How on earth could anyone find me, amid the 180,000 people on site? Irrationally, though... I could never shake the fear that an attack could come at any time, and I had to be ready.

_Not here, though. Not here. This is a safe place._

I took a deep breath, and followed Drew into the sauna. The heat hit me like a wall. I coughed a little, and paused in the doorway, letting my eyes adjust to the near-darkness. A low bulb on the wall illuminated the inside, like firelight.

Drew was sprawled on his back, buck naked, on the top bunk of the sauna. His eyes were closed, one hand across his stomach, one by his side. His ankles were modestly together, knees bent slightly to fit his lanky six-foot frame onto the short bench bolted onto the side of the truck.

Becoming more accustomed to the heat, I settled myself on the lower bunk, then covertly watched to see if Drew really was as relaxed as he seemed. Normally, he resembled nothing so much as a coiled spring, and I felt the familiar sharp pang as I remembered Bobby, my lost love who had been so like Drew in that respect, the same mix of nervous energy and fierce intelligence.

Unlike Bobby, though, Drew was lightly built, lithe rather than powerful. He was so _lean_, I thought, my eyes tracing the length of his side. There wasn't much fat on Drew anywhere that I could see, although, Jack's frequent gibes to the contrary, he actually wasn't scrawny either. His pale skin fit him neatly, showing the musculature beneath, but not so tightly you could see his bones.

He would almost have looked boyish, with his height and that smooth pale skin and blond hair, except for the fact that his muscles were a little _too_ defined. Not bulky, but the outlines were clear beneath his skin. I had once heard Tanya say that, as a person got older, their body would show the way in which they lived. Drew had inhabited his body for over thirty years, and quite a lot of those years had been taken up with running, or fighting, or training at Tanya's _dojo_. I knew from personal experience sparring with him - though I was nowhere near his or Tanya's level, and never would be - that that slender body was remarkably strong and quick, because its owner needed it to be.

Where was that tattoo he'd mentioned, I wondered? It had to be on the other side of his body, or on his back, because I was damned if I could see it. He didn't have much body hair, I noticed. Some, just enough not to be creepy - I was never one for the plucked-chicken look on a man - but he was so pale it didn't show much, just a light dusting over his forearms and chest, the usual line of hair most men have, leading all the way down to…

One of Drew's eyes opened, and lazily slid down to me. His mouth quirked into a smile, then he closed his eye again and seemed to relax even further, still smiling faintly.

I would have blushed hotly, if I wasn't already roastingly hot from the sauna. Dammit!


	20. Is Now The Time?

_This is possibly the craziest thing I've ever done._

He was back in the tiny flat that he and Sienna had rendez-vous'd in when he first arrived in London. Specifically, he was lurking in the tiny bathroom with the door open a crack, feeling slightly stupid, but mostly afraid. On the other side, Sienna was alone with a killer.

MI5 had been watching them at their hotel, of course, all the way out of it and into a cab. They hadn't, however, expected to lose their tail so easily; Goren wondered if Amelia Jenkins had had a hand in that. Putting on the brightest-coloured clothes they had with them – a red hat for Sienna, a bright blue scarf for Goren – they'd asked the cab driver simply to take them to the nearest Christmas market, playing the "American tourists loose in cute little old London" card for all it was worth. Once inside the market, it had been relatively easy to lose their followers for a few minutes among the throngs of shoppers in the maze of stalls, buy new clothes in dark brown and black, shed their old clothes, and slip out of the market looking like two entirely different people.

Once they were sure they'd lost their tail, they stole a cab from an angry woman with a full load of shopping. The taxi driver miraculously forgot he'd seen them do this after Goren slipped him a £20 note, and Sienna gave him the address for the street nearby. They'd hurried back through the maze of back alleys, Goren passing the spot where John Durham had knocked him out with a slight wince, and back into the tiny apartment, Sienna talking all the time hurriedly on her cellphone, setting up the arrangement with Doyle.

She'd already had to wire the man two thousand pounds as a sign of good faith before he would even agree to meet them. Once the price had been paid, however, he had agreed to it seemingly quite willingly. That alone bothered Goren… no, everything about this bothered him.

He was gambling with his partner's life, gambling that Sienna could talk a hired killer into helping them rescue her and Davenport. It was a desperately wild shot, but what else could they do? They needed help now, within the next hour.

He kept telling himself, as he anxiously listened for footsteps outside. In the room beyond, he could hear Sienna pacing up and down. He could almost picture her vibrating with nerves, her jaw clenched so that it wouldn't shake.

He kept going over and over what she had told him in their hotel room, during a hurried planning session (there was only so long that they could keep up the pretence of his consoling an upset Sienna before any hidden watchers would start to get suspicious).

"Who is it?"

"His name is Doyle. If he has another name, nobody knows it."

"Mystery man?"

"Hired killer." He felt her tremble with fear. "He's a professional, works for anyone with the right amount of money. He'll do anything, he has no conscience at all. We don't use him, but several other intelligence agencies do. Five don't either – officially."

"Why do you think he'll help?"

"Drew once told me that Doyle owed him his life, and that if ever I had to, I was to call in that debt."

"You just said he has no conscience."

"He doesn't, but Drew set things up so that Doyle has to help him – the situation it happened in had the highest level of security, and if word got out that Doyle was involved, he'd be a dead man. Everyone from the CIA to the Russian mafia would be after him."

"You want to blackmail a killer."

"You have a better idea?" She glanced up at him desperately. He hated having to, but shook his head.

"Besides," she managed a faint smile, "I have the right amount of money, Bobby. I'll pay for Doyle's services if I have to."

His heart jumped at the sound of footsteps outside. There came a sequence of knocks on the door, and Sienna hastily rushed over to open it. He heard the rattle of chains and bolts, then he heard another man enter the room.

Goren had positioned himself so that he could just see through the keyhole of the door. They'd argued fiercely over this. He had wanted to be in the same room as Sienna. The thought of leaving her alone with a killer chilled his blood. Not to mention, if he was honest, that it was his partner's life at risk. He trusted Sienna's negotiating skills, but…

Sienna had insisted with equal fierceness that it was too risky for both of them to be in the same room.

"It's too dangerous, Bobby. What if this… goes wrong?" She paused and swallowed. "One of us has to be able to raise the alarm."

"I want to protect you," he said simply, appealing to her feelings.

She looked back at him, met his gaze and said with equal simplicity: "If you're in the same room as me, Bobby, all that means is that Doyle will have a clear shot at both of us. You can protect me best by being my back-up."

He couldn't disagree with the logic, but that didn't stop him hating it. They'd agree that he would wait in the bathroom whilst Sienna did the preliminary negotiations. If Doyle was amenable… well, then, they'd have to see how this went.

He remained calm. Forced himself to breathe evenly, not make any sudden movements. Startling Doyle was likely to have fatal consequences.

"Ah, Ms Tovitz!"

The voice was higher-pitched and younger than he'd expected. He supposed that he had pictured Doyle as some sort of strapping ex-Marine type, but the high voice and light footsteps suggested a smaller man. He could see little through the keyhole, but caught a glimpse of a slight man not much taller than Sienna's own height, wearing dark green. He had an incongruously musical Irish accent, but it sounded somehow odd, occasionally flat, as though its owner was faking the normal rise and fall of a human voice, and occasionally forgot to fake.

"So, now, what's so urgent that it can't wait?" He heard footsteps, and pictured Doyle moving around the room. "Don't mind me checking the walls, I'm a suspicious bastard by nature. You wouldn't believe the number of times people have tried to catch me out with listening devices, wiretaps, you name it."

"I wouldn't try anything like that." Sienna's voice was subdued. He wondered if the fear and strain in it was as apparent to Doyle as it was to him. The answer was undoubtedly yes.

"No, you're a smart girl, aren't you? You wouldn't try doing that at all, now. Though mind you, you'd be surprised the different ways people try to catch you out these days. Well, maybe you wouldn't, being as how you're in that line of work yourself… I'll bet you have easy access to all sorts of nasty little things."

"Only if I want to use them. Please, Doyle…"

"In due course." He could hear the nasty smile in the man's voice. "I like to be sure of these things. Take off your clothes."

He hoped his sudden intake of breath hadn't been audible. Sienna made a wordless sound of shock.

"Oh come on, you're not a blushing virgin now. If you're wearing a wire and I find out now, you'll still be alive in ten minutes. If I find out halfway through all of this that you're wearing a wire, well, things won't turn out too well. Strip." Doyle's voice was completely flat now, terrifying. He heard the sounds of rustling, of Sienna taking her jacket and shoes off.

"Push your shoes over to me… That's it, good girl. Don't worry, it's nothing I haven't seen before."

He heard more rustling, then the sounds stopped. Sienna's voice, a little defiant. "Satisfied?" He heard sounds, thought that she must have turned on the spot.

"Nearly. Come on, now. And the rest."

"You can see…"

"For God's sake. Take off the rest of your clothes or I'VE GOT A GUN TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND'S HEAD, COME OUT OF THAT BATHROOM RIGHT NOW WITH YOUR HANDS OVER YOUR HEAD OR I'LL SHOOT HER!"

_Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit_. He barely paused; he had no other option. He pushed the door carefully open with his foot, and obeyed.

The sight that met his eyes chilled his blood even as his heart raced. Sienna was standing shivering in the middle of the room, naked except for her bra and panties. Doyle was stood facing her with his gun drawn and pointing steadily at her head.

In his other hand, he held another gun, which was pointing at Goren's head with equal steadiness.

Doyle was a small man in his early thirties, dark-haired and pale-eyed. He was wearing a long green overcoat which, combined with his delicate features and Irish accent, gave him the appearance of a malevolent pixie. It might have been amusing, except that the two guns were black, solid, and being held in his hands with no apparent strain. He guessed by their appearance that they were plastic firearms, in which case Doyle could undoubtedly keep them both drawn on Goren and Sienna for as long as he needed to.

"Funny that. Once you start telling their girlfriends to strip, men always seem to react badly and start fidgeting." Doyle smiled chillingly, then flicked his gaze to Sienna. "You've got half a minute to tell me what's happening, and I'd better like the explanation. I don't like being ambushed."

Sienna took a deep breath, and replied: "Is now the time, Mr Doyle?"

The effect of this apparent nonsense on Doyle was surprising. He looked genuinely shocked, the first human expression Goren had seen on his face, but it was soon replaced by an expression of anger.

"You shouldn't know that. Oh, you should not know that _at all_…" Doyle said very quietly.

"Drew told me that if ever his life was in danger and I needed help from someone who could do what others can't, I should come to you and say that."

"Davenport's life is in danger? Well, now, there's a surprise."

"He'll die if you don't help us. You owe him your life. I'm here in his place to collect that debt."

"Really." Doyle considered for a second. "Of course, theoretically, I could kill you both and wait to see what happens, since if he's in so much danger even his own people can't help him, it's odds-on he'll be dead soon, and I'll have saved myself a job."

Sienna's voice didn't waver, although the courage it took for her to speak was apparent to both men. "He also said that if you said anything like that, I was to inform you that a full record of what happened is in storage – I don't know where – and that I was to make a call to a certain number – I don't know whose – before I spoke to you. If Drew doesn't make another call within the next two days, that record gets released to MI5 and the CIA. I don't know what's in it, I don't know who I called, I don't know anything, so torturing me or Bobby won't change that." She visibly screwed up the last of her courage. "I do know that he said you'd be dead if that happened."

"Hmm." Doyle frowned, and considered. "Interesting. He is a devious little bastard, isn't he? Do you know where he is?"

"We know where he is, and who he's there with. We just need you to get him and the people with him out of there." Goren's voice surprised Doyle, who raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, it speaks!" Doyle smiled ironically. "Who's he got with him, then? Somebody you care about, that's obvious…" He left the question hanging.

"My partner. Alex Eames."

"I thought… Oh, I see." Doyle smiled. "Well then. I don't really have too much of a choice, now, do I?" His face turned serious. "Give me the location."

"We're coming too."

Doyle raised an eyebrow at this but seemed surprisingly amenable. "Don't trust me, Ms Tovitz?"

"If I did, I'd be so stupid that you'd lose all respect for me, wouldn't I? We can't stay here whilst our friends are in danger somewhere else."

"Oh, you have feelings for Davenport!" Doyle grinned gleefully at Goren. "Did you see that, now? Isn't it touching? Well, maybe you'd think not, you being her boyfriend and all." His voice changed to deadly serious. "Fine. I'll take you if I can do it. If I think for one minute that you'll be in the way, I'll ditch you and you can fend for yourselves. I'm in charge and you do what I say. Understood?"

They both nodded. He held out his hand for the piece of paper with the address.

Not long afterwards, they were in what Goren assumed was a storehouse that Doyle kept his weapons in, on a lonely stretch of the Thames. They'd travelled there in his car, both Goren and Sienna wearing blindfolds (an experience he would be just as glad never to repeat), then waited whilst Doyle checked maps and collected the equipment he thought he would need. He was frighteningly quick and efficient, but Goren was having to repress the urge to tell him to hurry. It was dropping dark quickly, and they had already lost far too much time.

He kept telling himself that Eames was okay. She _had_ to be okay. The alternative didn't bear thinking about.

"It'll be extra for your friend."

"I'm sorry?" Doyle's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Your friend." Doyle's smile was unpleasant. "What Davenport has on me is enough to cover his life, but it'll be extra if you want me to try to rescue her. I mean, difficult situation, bullets flying around – a man needs a bit of extra incentive to take risks in a situation like that."

He stared at the man, open-mouthed. Before he could say anything, Sienna jumped in quickly. "How much?"

"Forty thousand."

Goren felt his face go white. He simply didn't have that sort of money – he could borrow it, given time, but he didn't have it right now.

"Done, but I can't raise that much at once, not from here – I'll need to sell some shares. Twenty-five thousand now, the remainder afterwards." Sienna's voice was shaky, and Goren knew why. They had talked about using that money to put towards a larger apartment, maybe even a house for them both. That would have to be shelved now, and they'd probably have to consider selling his apartment to raise the rest; Sienna rented hers.

Doyle looked annoyed, but agreed after it became obvious to him that Sienna wasn't simply stalling. He stood over her as she arranged to transfer the money to an account he provided details of.

"Doyle, MI5 said that Eames had a companion with her – not Drew," Sienna explained. "We don't know who it is."

"Oh, do you want me to try and rescue them too? Fucking guardian angel, I'm being tonight," Doyle commented.

"I don't know. I don't know who it is… but yes, I do." Sienna swallowed hard.

"Thanks for the warning. I'll do what I can. And that'll be another ten thousand."

Once the transfer was arranged, he motioned them both to the back of the storehouse, where a small black motorboat sat under a tarpaulin.

There was a small jetty at the back. They helped him uncover the boat and drag it out onto the water.

"Right, now. Remember. You do what I say, and when we get there, leave everything to me." At Goren's expression, he continued. "When I get near that warehouse, I'm going to kill anyone who gets in the way. You're a copper, and you can't do that. So you leave it to me, just do what I say, and you'll have your friends back, all safe and sound."

He started the engine, and the boat moved smoothly and slightly off, a dark shape on the water. It had no lights, but Doyle had his own navigation system and night-vision goggles. They crouched in the back, hiding under a dark blanket to keep from being seen. Goren tried to keep focussed, not easy when Sienna's face was so white and drawn. He longed to embrace her, but knew he couldn't allow himself to do so, lest he lose his self-control… He gave her a reassuring smile, and she smiled wanly back, and muttered quietly, "Bobby, I'm so, so sorry. I got you and Alex into this…"

"Sienna." He made his voice as reassuring as possible. "Sienna, it's not your fault. You've done everything you can."

"No, Bobby. No, I haven't. I could have tried harder to contact Drew, but I was willing to go along with Langford. Now, for all we know-"

"Don't think that. Don't let yourself think that. Stay focussed, Sienna."

"I love you so much."

He frowned slightly, then, seeing her face, let his mask slip a little. "I love you too, Sienna, but we can't think about that now."

In front of them, Doyle turned round and admonished them, "No talking, now. We're almost there."

They could see the great grey shape of the warehouse looming up ahead on the banks of the river. There were no apparent signs of life. Doyle cut the engine, and pulled the boat in close to the shore. He gestured fiercely at them to be silent. The boat drifted a little further… then, suddenly, he leapt from it.

They heard the thud of his boots landing on the deck of another boat, then a sudden, horrible soft sound and some gurgling. There was a faint splash, as if Doyle had lowered something heavy into the water. He motioned that they could stand up.

"Stay here." He murmured and pointed at Sienna. "Do you know how to drive a boat?"

She nodded. "Then you both stay here and keep an eye on the boats. Anyone comes near you who you even think might not be me or Davenport or – what's your partner's name? Eames? You shoot the bastards. You've got the silencers on your guns, and don't be shy to use them, now, or we could all be dead. So you do what I tell you."

He smiled at them, a white flash of teeth in the darkness, then leapt ashore, scrambled up the bank, and ran. In the dull twilight, his dark clothes easily blended in with the surroundings; soon, he was almost indistinguishable.

They waited and waited, for what seemed like hours, but was probably only minutes; they had lost all trace of time. Suddenly, they heard footsteps, heavy footsteps that didn't sound as though they could belong to either Eames, Doyle, or Davenport.

Goren raised his arm, taking aim at the running figure. He was just about to pull the trigger when Sienna hissed fiercely "Bobby, no!"

"What!"

"It's Amp!"

He glanced again at the running figure, and realised with a shock that it was indeed Duncan Ampirelli. His clothes were torn and his hair was wild, and he had a large gash on his thigh which was dripping blood over his sodden jeans. _Jesus, I could have shot him._

Ampirelli reached them, his breath coming in shuddery gulps. He didn't so much jump into the boat as fall into it, and he lay there for a few seconds, catching his breath, then forced himself to speak. Pointing at the warehouse, he gulped wildly, then heaved out the words: "You've… you've got to go… go help…"

"What's happening?" Goren questioned him urgently.

He drew a deep breath. "They've got them trapped at the top… that man… rescued me… said he needed you to back him up…"

Goren and Sienna exchanged glances.

"It has to be me, Sienna," he said firmly. She nodded in complete agreement. "We'll be here, Bobby. Get back here as fast as you can."

He smiled, fixed her face in his head, then holstered his gun for safekeeping, and jumped out of the boat, clawed his way up the bank, and drew it again on reaching the top.

He took a deep breath, and set off into the unknown.

***

**Interlude 7b: Body Marks**

I blushed furiously, and hoped it was concealed by the heat of the sauna. What had gotten into me?

_More like what _hasn't_ gotten into you. _

I pulled a face. True, I was probably overthinking this. It was simple. The catastrophic consequences of my break-up with John, both physical and mental, had pretty much killed any desire I might have felt during the long, painful process of recovery. Now, I was physically healed for the first time in months, and, finally, somewhere I felt safe. Naturally, my sex drive was starting to return. I was naked, in a room with a naked man, and my subconscious wasn't sophisticated enough to realise that said naked man was gay.

I wondered whether I should be more embarrassed. Then again, of all my friends, Drew was surely the most likely to understand the concept of appreciating the naked male form, regardless of the circumstances…

_Nice attractive naked "male form" too, always wondered if Drew was a natural blond… SIENNA!_

"Those are pretty," Drew remarked, startling me slightly.

"Hmm?"

"Your freckles." He swung his legs down from the top bench, sitting upright and bending at the waist slightly, gesturing at my shoulders. "They're pretty."

"Thanks," I replied, a little uncertain of what to say to that. "I used to hate them when I was a kid."

"I hear you. I used to wonder if I'd ever fill out. Kind of never happened, but I'm not complaining…" Drew's voice trailed away, then came back, harder and sharper than before. "Who did that to you?"

The sudden change in tone made me jerk my head to the side, to meet his gaze. He was peering intently at my left shoulder, and I had a sudden strong urge to cover it with my hand. Christ, Drew had sharp eyes for spotting what people would rather keep hidden.

"It's nothing, okay? It's nothing."

"It's not nothing. Someone bit you, didn't they?"

I grunted in agreement, though only because I could hardly deny the pattern of faint white scars on my shoulder. Another year and they would have faded for good; the only reason it was possible to see them was because they cut across some of the freckles and stood out, white against dark brown.

"Yes, someone bit me, and no, I don't want to talk about it."

"_I_ want to talk about it. Who hurt you, SiSi? Was it John Durham? Did that bastard do that to you?" I hadn't seen Drew so angry since we heard that John Durham couldn't be tried for the worst of his crimes thanks to the lack of evidence, and would serve, at best, a two-year sentence.

"Jesus, Drew, leave it!"

"I'm not going to leave it if that bastard hurt you!"

We glared at each other. "It was Bobby, okay! It was Bobby! Are you fucking happy now?"

Drew's face could not have shown more surprise if I'd replied "It was the Tooth Fairy".

"Goren? _Goren_ did that to you?" He looked so puzzled it would almost have been funny, except I was too fired up to laugh.

"Yes. Yes, he did that to me. Do you want to hear all the gory details?" He started to shake his head, holding his hands up, but I was on a roll. "We were having sex, okay? We were _screwing_. He was nibbling my shoulder, and he got a very bad cramp in his leg, and…" I tailed away, suddenly really wishing I hadn't brought this up.

"…and he bit you a lot harder than he intended?" Drew finished the sentence. "Ah." He looked about as embarrassed as I'd ever seen him.

It had been monumentally embarrassing for both of us; Bobby rolling about clutching his leg and trying not to swear with pain, me trying not to scream and frantically mopping up the blood that was slowly oozing from the cuts before Bobby could see it. It had actually hurt quite a lot, but what had been worse was Bobby's expression when he realised he'd hurt me. It had screwed up our sex life for the better part of a month, and it was only after I'd put in a _huge_ amount of work to persuade Bobby that I genuinely wasn't scared to have sex with him again, that we managed to work our way back to normality.

"Yes. Now you know all the gory details. Happy?"

"Not really." He caught my expression. "I'm sorry, SiSi."

"Yeah, you're sorry now. You couldn't have backed off, could you? You _wanted_ all the gory details."

"I'm sorry! I just thought that bastard might have done it, and…" his words tailed off.

I continued to glare.

"Okay, I've said I'm sorry twice. I can keep saying it, but… I'm sorry? Really?" He smiled apologetically. I reminded myself that so far this evening Drew had been stunningly nice to me, compared to his usual behaviour towards… just about anyone else he knew, really. Apart from Tanya, whom he regarded as something of a cross between _mentor_ and _older sister_.

I gave a small smile. "It's okay."

"Good."

I made an effort to change the subject. "So, where's that tattoo?"

"Hmm?"

"You mentioned a while back you had a tattoo. I've never seen it, so…"

He chuckled. "No, you wouldn't have. Here, hold on." He lay down again, this time facing the other way, with his other side facing me, and his finger traced a line down to a point just inside his left hipbone, low down on his stomach. I saw what he meant; the tattoo would be covered by his clothes unless he was wearing… well, nothing at all, really.

It was pretty simple, nothing like the ornate artwork decorating Tanya's skin. Drew's tattoo was the number 42, written in elegant curving script. I worked out the meaning and giggled.

"What's funny?"

"You have the meaning of life on your stomach."

Drew chuckled too. "Top marks for the red-headed lady. Most people don't get that. Then again, usually when anyone sees it, it's not the sort of situation where you want to stop and explain things…"

I met his gaze across the flat expanse of his belly, and had a sudden powerful realisation that I was looking at him from the perspective that anyone _in_ that situation would see him from. Well, if they were about to… well, my head was barely inches from Drew's groin, and I forced myself to hold his gaze rather than what I wanted to do, which was follow that line of hair I'd noticed earlier all the way down. What the fuck had gotten into me?

Drew's pupils, I couldn't help noticing were _huge_ in the dim light, so dilated his eyes seemed almost black…

"Oh, am I _interrupting_ anything?" A giggly voice from the doorway interrupted both our thoughts.

Drew and I didn't exactly fly apart, but we both sat upright so quickly it was amazing we didn't fall over each other.


	21. Boltholes

"I'm so fucking sorry."

They were the last words she'd ever expected to hear from Andrew Davenport, and the circumstances weren't what she would have chosen.

They were hiding at the very top of the warehouse. It was a terrible place to hide, but they'd had no choice; their pursuers had combed the building methodically. They had stayed one step ahead, but only just. Eventually, they'd made the hair-raising climb through a window and up a drainpipe, frantically trying to ignore the ten-storey drop beneath them, before making it onto the roof.

They'd found a hatch in the roof which led into a tiny room which, blessedly, had another door leading out of it with a set of narrow stairs. Their best hope, they'd realised, was to wait there and hope that their pursuers came up the stairs. They'd have to come in in single file… with luck, they might, just might, manage to ambush them. They were stuck playing an agonising waiting game. Either their pursuers would find them, in which case they'd either live or die, or they would not, in which case they'd have to guess at how long to leave it until they risked coming out of their bolthole.

The knowledge that if she wanted to live through the next few hours, she'd almost certainly have to kill several men to do so was weighing heavily on her. She had not become a detective to kill, but to keep others safe… but now it was her own life at risk.

Beside her, Davenport appeared to be relatively untroubled by those particular concerns, but the thoughts he was having were obviously dark ones. His eyes were narrowed, and he was stiller than she'd ever seen him.

"I'm really fucking sorry you got caught up in this," he repeated, almost to himself.

"You said you knew who left that message?"

"I'm pretty sure, yes." His face screwed up into a half-smile. "I spent a lot of time visiting John Durham in prison, trying to persuade him to talk. Eventually I snapped and told him that if he didn't spill his guts to me, someone else would do it for him the second he got out of prison. He just smiled, and said, 'I've no intention'. And this isn't news to you, is it?"

At his sharp tone, she looked up. Davenport's eyes bored into hers. "No, this isn't a surprise to you. You knew," he said softly. "You knew that John Durham was out of prison, that he… what, escaped? Yes?" She nodded. "And no-one told me."

He closed his eyes very briefly, as if in pain. "Jesus fucking Christ. I'm the bait now, aren't I?"

"Davenport…"

"Call me Drew. You might as well, being as how you might be about to be the last person who does."

"Don't be such a self-pitying bastard."

His head snapped up. She glared at him. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and fucking focus! I want to live. I want to live so I can go home to my family for Christmas, and you will by God stop this and focus on getting us both out of here, or _I'll _hit you! Don't think I won't!"

He stared at her for a few seconds, then his mouth curved into a huge smile. She suddenly realised that he was not actually bad-looking, and probably possessed a certain amount of charm when he forgot to be a bastard.

"Okay, then!" He grinned. "I'll take the first ones. You don't shoot unless you have to." To her questioning glance, he replied gently, "I've killed before in the service of my country. It doesn't bother me. Also I'm wearing bullet-proof armour, this coat has a Kevlar layer. You shoot only if you have to, but for God's sake don't hesitate if you _do _have to."

"Go teach your grandmother to suck eggs. I know what I'm doing." She rolled her head on her neck and stretched cautiously.

The smile got wider and he actually chuckled softly. "I don't doubt that for a minute. And by the way-" he looked her in the eyes "- I never got to say thank you. So, thanks for saving my life. Sorry I made such a piss-poor job of saving yours."

"You can make up for it in the next hour."

Suddenly, they both heard a voice, heavily accented and threatening. "We know you're up there!"

They both ignored it.

"We've got your young friend here!"

At that, both of them exchanged horrified glances.

"Get down here now, or we'll fucking break his legs, then his arms, then his neck!"

They exchanged glances again. Davenport shook his head fiercely and mouthed _They're bluffing._

We can't risk it, she mouthed back.

Davenport leaned across and breathed into her ear, "If we go down there, all that it means is that they'll have all three of us."

"What if one of us goes down there? Offer them a trade – one of us for Duncan. They might let him go…"

She'd barely finished the words before Davenport was speaking. "You know that won't be how it works. _If_ they've got him, they'll have to shoot him as a witness. We can't do anything."

"We can try."

He shook his head – then grinned at her. "I love the way you think. Okay, then if we can…"

Suddenly, there was a loud scream in a very familiar voice, coming from inside the building. Davenport's face mirrored the guilt and horror she was feeling. That was Duncan Ampirelli, and someone was torturing him.

"Stop it!" Before she had had time to think about it, she'd thrown herself forwards to the window. "Stop that! I'll give myself up!"

There was a chorus of sarcastic jeers and whistles from below. "Fucking get down here now, bitch! Get down here, or that's just the start!"

_Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit… _

He looked around again, but there was no way out, even if his hands and feet hadn't been tied up and there hadn't been a bastard with a gun at the door.

He was stuck in a small room in the warehouse, with a man dressed all in black and a gun at the door. They'd dragged him there. He'd tried to get away in the van, and he'd nearly made it, but suddenly the road in front of him had burst into flames, and he'd hit the brakes and pulled to a screeching halt, and then they'd surrounded him, and though he'd studied everything Tanya and _that bastard_ and all the others at the dojo had tried to teach him, there wasn't really much you could do when you had three guns pointing at you except try not to die or piss yourself, so he'd got out of the van with his hands up, and then they'd hit him in the stomach and over the head with a pipe, and part of him wanted to yell _That's not fair_, but most of him was too busy trying not to collapse with the pain. Half-stunned, he'd been dragged from the van over the rough ground, and when his leg had caught against a broken bottle they'd dragged him over it because it was quicker, and he'd been thrown into a room in the warehouse and tied up.

Now he was sitting propped up against the wall and trying not to think about the pain in his head, or his belly, or his leg, and _definitely not at all _about the fact that he really, really, needed to pee.

He eyed up the man on the door again. _I could take him if it was a square go_, he consoled himself. A lot of people thought they could have him, him being quite big and all, because they always thought he was slow, but he'd been training with Tanya since he got to London, and he could take most people in a square fight if he really had to. But there was not a right lot you could do against a gun, was there? The man smiled back, and if they'd been in the pub it would have kicked off then and there, but they're weren't, and it didn't.

_Always knew that bastard was up to something. Business security consultant, my arse. _

The thought gave him some hope. Maybe Drew'd got away. Maybe he and Eames had legged it. He hoped so, because maybe then they could get help, and any minute now he'd been hearing sirens and the police would be coming round the door.

The man on the door motioned with the gun. "You. Up."

He didn't sound English. Maybe Polish or something a bit like it. They had had quite a few of them in the Red Lion's kitchen… The man motioned more pointedly with the gun. He struggled to get to his feet, and nearly made it, but then he forget that his feet were tied together, and fell over. He landed on his injured thigh, and nearly screamed with the pain, his eyes watering.

The man sniggered. Amp glared at him, and it was then that he saw it.

There was a face at the grimy window behind the man's head. It wasn't a face he'd seen before, ever. It was small and a bit girly-looking, but there was something about the eyes that gave him chills, and then suddenly he realised, _the face wasn't wearing a black balaclava. _

Using instincts he didn't know he had, he instantly looked away from the door and rubbed his leg, or tried to.

"Hurts, does it?" the man said, wandering over with the gun loosely held in his hand.

He nodded wordlessly, and cringed away from the man's feet. Behind him, he saw the other face nod encouragingly, mouth _Good, keep him busy_, then vanish. He thought he heard footsteps going towards the door and the sound of someone poking something into the lock, but couldn't be sure.

"Hurts, huh?" The man smiled, then deliberately put the toe of his boot against the gaping cut, and pushed. He didn't need to fake the scream, it just happened. He tried to squirm away from him, desperately trying not look behind the man or at the door. It wasn't too hard, because he kept trying to kick Amp, kick him in the soft flesh of his belly or on the large lump on his forehead where they both knew he'd been hit before. Trying, because Amp had done this before in the dojo, where Tanya made you lie on the floor and pretend you'd been knocked down and your attacker was on your feet, and the defence was not to get away from them, but to throw yourself at them and try and tangle their feet up with body and it worked, it really worked, until the man pointed the gun at him and he had to freeze, dead still.

"Lie still, bastard-"

The rest of the words were cut off in a gurgling yelpy sound as something pointed and black like a nightmare appeared behind the man's head, then reached round across his throat and Amp didn't want to look, couldn't look, just ducked his head under his arm and cringed. Suddenly, he felt someone grabbing hold of his wrists and he winced, but it was alright, he felt something go in between his hands and then they were free again. Whoever it was did the same for his feet, and he dared to look up.

It was weird. He'd been expecting maybe a copper, or Drew or Eames even, but there was a small man with a gun and a knife, dressed all in dark grey, in the room with him. He risked a glance at the man who'd been holding him captive, and wished he hadn't immediately, because his throat had been sliced from side to side, and it made him want to puke.

"You alright?" The man asked him in a friendly way that somehow managed to sound _really fucking frightening. _

He nodded, then regretted it as the pain burst in his head. He heard shouting outside, and the small man ran across to the window and peered out carefully.

"Who are-"

"Ssh!" The man shushed him impatiently, then listened. They both heard it, a female voice yelling "I'll give myself up!"

"Oh, isn't that nice," the man muttered, then said firmly "Stay here," and crept out of the door. He rubbed his bruises and wondered what the hell was happening. Half a minute later, the man came back in the room and stuck out a hand, and he'd taken it and found himself pulled to his feet before he knew what was happening.

The man leaned forward, into his face. "Can you walk?"

He nodded (then wished he hadn't).

"Can you _run_?"

"Yes, if, if I really have to-"

"Good, you do really have to." The man was grinning and it should have been reassuring, but wasn't. "Do you know where the river is from here? Back there?" He pointed at the back of the warehouse, but Amp was already nodding, his sense of direction was really good, he'd used it a lot before he got satnav for the van.

"Good. Now I need you to run back there as fast as you can. There's a boat on the river. You go find it, and you tell the man in it that I need him here as fast as he can get here. Tell him that I need him to back me up whilst I go kill those bastards. You understand me?"

He nodded, wide-eyed.

"Okay then! Go going," and he opened the door, and Amp stumbled out of it, and for a second he was disorientated, didn't know where he was, but then his eyes adjusted, and he was alright. He looked around, didn't see anyone, and then he was running almost before he knew it, heading fast towards the river, ignoring the sounds of shouting from behind him, running for his life. His, and Alex's, and Drew's.

***

Interlude: What Happened at Glastonbury, C9: To My Own Beat, Now (FRT)

The intruder was a young woman, I guessed in her early twenties. She had bright blue hair and was wearing a nose ring, several tattoos and nothing else.

"Nope, you're not interrupting anything," I hastily replied, probably too hastily.

"Goood! That's reaally great," she trilled, sprawling on the bench beside me. "Are you guys having a good tiiime?"

"Yes we are," Drew replied, just a little dryly. I could hear in his voice that he was thinking the same thought I was, _is she drunk? Is she on something? _And if so, why hadn't someone outside stopped her from coming in? I wasn't impressed.

"Good, 'cause that's what this is all about!" She grinned and turned to me. "Am I right?"

"Oh yeah!" I added with fake enthusiasm, feeling very old all of a sudden. I felt responsible for her, and yet she wasn't much younger than I was. Sienna Tovitz, rescuer of waifs and strays.

"You been partying tonight?" Drew asked, flopping forwards onto his stomach, mimicking the young woman's sloppy posture.

"Oh, just a _little _bit." She held up her thumb and forefinger close together, waved them at him, and giggled crazily. "What's the point of _coming _here if you can't _party_? I mean, what is the fucking _point_? All these fucking _coppers_ all over the place, man, they are just spoiling _everything_."

"Oh yeah, we've seen 'em. They been bothering you?"

"Nah, not really. I know where the good stuff is," and she tapped the side of her nose.

Drew was too experienced to react in any way. "Sounds like you've been having a good night!"

"Oh yeah," she murmured drowsily. I really hoped she wasn't going to pass out, although between Drew and I, we could probably have pulled her out of the sauna. Drew and I did not look at each other, did not exchange glances, did not move at all, but I sensed without looking at him that he wanted me to take over the questioning.

"So, where's you?" I asked. "You staying round here?"

"Oh, here, there and everywhere… I can't even remember where I left my tent!" She giggled. "I've been up at the Stone… Stone…"

"Circle?" I asked helpfully.

"Yeah! Then I got cold and came here." _Which explains the mud all over your legs and ass_, I thought privately. She must have fallen over at least twice.

"Hey, listen," I got closer to her, applying my best all-girls-together smile. "We're thinking of heading on up there ourselves, we gonna see you there?"

"Oh, yeah! It's totally where the party is!"

"Just up by the stones, or near them? Cause, you know, we were thinking of doing a little _partying _ourselves," I tipped my head in Drew's general direction and smirked at her.

"Oh, I get it. You want… something _special_, right?"

"Oh yeah, something _special… _cause we have our own stuff, but, you know, it's a _special _night," I murmured conspiratorially, whilst privately marvelling that anyone this out of her gourd was able to stand up and walk around. _Let her tell you, Sienna, if you push her she'll get suspicious… _

"I can _trust_ you, right?"

"Oh yeah, totally. Do we look like cops?" I laughed and so did she. Drew was pretending to be half-asleep behind me, but I knew he wasn't.

"Okay, well…" She tapped the side of her nose again. I leaned in, my breasts brushing her arm, and pushed my ear against her mouth. "You need to go up there, and have a look for the Secret Garden. It's like this totally sweet little place with all kinds of statues and stuff, and there's like people in there, just, you know, hanging out… ask for _Sammy_."

"Sammy's the man, huh?" I repeated, just loudly enough for Drew to hear.

"Oh, he is _totally_ the man. He's got _everything_, he's like the main man round here." She giggled again, then coughed. "Came up from Liverpool, you know? He brought everything." She giggled. "Says it's a huge fucking festival for him and his mates!"

"Uh-huh!" I nodded enthusiastically. "I guess we'll see you there." _Liverpool, near the docks, a major route for traffickers… this could be big. _

"Fuck yeah, but I am _roasting_," Drew replied from behind me, swinging his long legs off the bench and slithering down onto his feet. He planted a kiss on my mouth, playing the role. "I'm gonna go cool off." He pointed at both of us. "Now don't do anything I wouldn't do… and if you do, I wanna watch!"

The girl giggled and waved sloppily. Drew wandered out of the sauna door, letting a welcome blast of cool air in. I was stifling, but I knew I had to keep an eye on the girl, whilst also hopefully keeping her away from Drew long enough for him to place a call. I imagined him now, outside, finding somewhere quiet enough to call from, placing the call through with the identification codes that would get him through to the police…

"I'm _way_ too hot," I said, hoping to steer her out of the sauna, and hopefully in the direction of the showers, where I could guarantee we wouldn't run into Drew.

"Oh yeah, it's really hot in here." She made no sign of moving. I gritted my teeth.

"I, uh… Maybe you could help me?"

"Suuure, whatever you want, hon." I thought a short and vicious curse on people like Sammy. She seemed like a nice person, but was way too under the influence to be out on her own.

"I, uh…" I pointed to the scar on my leg. "I kinda… need a hand to walk." I repressed the memories of the long months when that had been the truth.

"Oh man, and he just left you here? That _sucks_." She staggered onto her feet, and lurched over me, holding out an unsteady hand. We half-walked, half-fell out of the sauna into the blissfully cool air outside.

"Man, I'm gonna go in the cold tub…"

"No, I don't think that's such a great idea," I said firmly, picturing myself carrying out CPR on her. "Why don't you uh, come in with me, have a shower…"

She burst out into laughter. "Oh man, that would TOTALLY be like my boyfriend's fantasy! I'm gonna tell him all about that." She kept laughing, but did consent to stagger alongside me and into the shower, which I tested carefully first until it ran cool, but not shockingly cold. I sincerely hoped this turned out to be worth it. _How come I get the shit work and Drew has to make a fucking phone call? _I thought, as I carefully guided her back towards her clothes, pulled mine on swiftly, and steered us into the rest area of the sauna.

Drew was already waiting there for me, talking to the sauna owner, and indicated that he'd succeeded in his side of the bargain with a barely perceptible nod. I deposited the young woman on some cushions, shoved a cup of water into her hand, and headed over to join them.

"What the-" I began.

The sauna owner heaved a sigh, and indicated something I'd not seen previously: a sign on a length of chain next to the sauna entrance saying "Please do NOT enter: we will be back in five minutes!"

"I've been telling your partner. I went to the toilet for five minutes and put the sign over the door; my wife would be on duty, but our stove's broken and she went to buy some food. I couldn't lock it because there were people in there. I can't physically stop people ducking under the sign! I'll keep an eye on her," and he nodded at the young woman, who was now snoozing quietly amidst the cushions.

_Maybe you shouldn't be running it if you can't have someone on duty at_ all _times_, I thought, although I could see his point and since I'd just used his sauna to get clean, it seemed a bit ungrateful to push the point. Drew twitched his head at me, and we withdrew to a quieter area of the sauna, switching back to Russian.

"Did you get through?" I asked.

"Yup. Sammy is in for a nasty surprise," Drew said, and grinned.

"Do you think we should…" I asked half-heartedly.

"No. No, I do not think we should do ANYTHING. We're on holiday, SiSi. Let's let the boys and girls in blue earn their wages."

"Hmm." We sat in companionable silence, drinking water to cool down.

"What do the letters stand for?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I was going to ask before we got interrupted. The number you have tattooed, there are letters along one side of it, aren't there? _E.V.C. _Did I read that right?"

Drew looked slightly uncomfortable. "Yes, I had them added a while ago."

"What does it mean?"

Drew took a deep breath. "It's… well, I've had it a few years now. Both a statement of intent, and a reminder to me not to bugger things up, I suppose…"

I raised a quizzical eyebrow. Drew smiled rather humourlessly. "It means _ego vigilo custodis_."

It took me a few seconds, but then… "Oh."

"Mmm."

We sat in silence for a few minutes, preoccupied with our own thoughts. Drew fiddled with his cellphone, whilst I yawned and tried not to think _"I watch the Watchmen"… Well, you didn't manage that too well last year, did you? _

He put the phone back in his pants pocket, then turned to me with a quizzical expression. "SiSi, question for you." He spoke in English this time.

"Okay."

He took a breath. "We've got a long walk back to our campsite."

"Thanks, I was trying to forget that."

"Well, I have a proposal. I know someone who has a tipi. Near here."

"You know someone who has a tipi… Of course you do, you always know people who know people."

He grinned. "Indeed. Well, I have checked, and said friend is off to go party down in Lost Vagueness all night. He says we can borrow it."

My heart leaped at the prospect of escaping the long, cold, muddy trudge back to our damp tents and sleeping bags. "Are you sure? He's not gonna want to come back and kick us out at half three in the morning?"

"He says not, he's partying with some friends and they'll probably all crash down there. It's all ours. A tipi with a proper bed. Warm, dry and comfortable."

"Fantastic!"

"One thing, though…"

"Mmm?"

"It is just one bed." Drew looked at me sideways. "A big bed, mind. He drags it onto the site with a trailer. But if you're not comfortable with sharing, then…"

"It's okay."

"Really?"

I nodded. "So long as it's big enough that we're not sleeping on top of each other, it'll be fine. I've shared beds with a friend before – when I've been travelling, I mean – and I trust you."

"Are you sure?"

"Drew, right now I'd sleep with Hannibal Lector if it meant I didn't have to walk through any more fucking mud."

"Oh, I rate the same as Hannibal Lector. Thanks a bunch, SiSi, no, really, thank you…"

We grinned at each other. "Are you tired? You want to go there now?"

I hesitated. "Actually…Yeah, I am kind of tired, but if you're not, we could stay up a while longer." I had never actually seen Drew tired, _except maybe earlier tonight_, I thought. Asleep, yes, but when he was awake he tended to throw off energy like the Energizer Bunny.

"I wouldn't mind catching some rest. It's been a long day."

"Yeah, and I'm guessing you didn't get much sleep last night."

Drew pulled a mournful face. "Oh God, don't remind me."

I laughed. "I won't, I think Amp will, probably for the rest of the festival."

"All the more reason for us to take tonight off and just chill out together. You coming?"

"Oh yeah."

We pulled on our waterproofs, and set off along the muddy metal planking towards what I really hoped would be our final stop of the night. Drew had one arm firmly clamped around my waist. As we walked, he started to sing, almost absent-mindedly.

I recognised the song; _Minority_, by Green Day. Drew listened to it so often, I'd come to think of it as his song. Partly because of that, partly because Green Day's "down with the moral majority" philosophy chimed so perfectly with Drew's own.

Though I wasn't much of a singer, I decided to join in on the chorus, and the two of us tramped onward through the mud, singing our hearts out.

_"Stepped out of the line, like a sheep runs from the herd,  
Marching out of time,  
To my own beat, now,  
The only way I know…" _

No-one batted an eyelid.


	22. Attack and Defense

As he neared the warehouse, Bobby Goren slowed down a little and looked for the nearest cover. There seemed to be no-one about, but there were definite sounds of movement from the other side of the building, voices raised. He heard a familiar female voice, and suddenly his heart leapt with joy. _That's Eames. She's alive_.

He had no more time to feel that, because suddenly Doyle was beside him, seeming to appear out of the darkness from thin air.

"Listen to me, now," the Irishman said breathily. His eyes were glittering; he was obviously enjoying himself. "Your friend and Davenport are coming down the fire escape now. There's one man behind them, and another in front. You and me are going to watch, and then as soon as we get chance, we're going to shoot the bastards, there's too many of them for me to take on my own. Has to be a fast strike, shoot them quick and aim to kill. We've got one chance, and we take it fast, else the two of them will be dead. You understand me?"

He nodded fiercely, feeling the adrenaline surging through his veins. He didn't want to kill, but he wanted to see Eames die even less, and if she was being held at gunpoint, he would do what he had to do.

"Time to go," Doyle murmured, and motioned that Goren should follow him. They crouched down, moving stealthily through the rubble and scrubby bushes that surrounded the ancient building, before Doyle held up a hand to stop him, then motioned to him to follow him inside the warehouse. His breath coming in short fast gulps, he followed the man inside the building and into a small room, nearly tripping over a corpse with a gaping throat. He gagged a little, then forced the image out of his mind.

Doyle beckoned him to follow, and they passed through the room and into the open space of what had been the warehouse's main floor. Stealthily, they crept across to crouch underneath the shattered glass of the window.

Sneaking a glance up through the window holes, he saw their adversaries standing in a crescent shape, facing the end of the fire escape. He could hear footsteps clanging on it, at least four pairs of feet – Eames, Davenport, and two captors'. His Army-trained eyes realised that Doyle had picked the perfect spot. They had a clear shot at their captors, whose backs were turned to them, and when Eames and Davenport came down the fire escape, they would have a clear shot at the two men holding them captive.

It would be very, very difficult, but they had a chance. He felt a severe pang of conscience about the fact that he was about to shoot men from behind with no warning, but could see no other solution. There were far too many of their enemies to do anything else and, had they been on the streets of New York with someone pointing a gun at Eames' head, he wouldn't have hesitated, so he knew he must not hesitate now.

Beside him, he was aware of movement, and saw Doyle creeping across to another window that would give him a better shot at the two men holding Eames and Davenport captive. One was coming into view now. He was walking backwards down the fire escape with his gun held out in front of him, and it might have looked comical, except that there was nothing funny about the look of fear on Eames' face. He was briefly surprised to see that she was wearing a long leather coat, and nonsensically thought, _it's too big for her, _before he snapped his focus back to the task in hand. Behind her, Davenport came pacing down the stairs, his hands over his head and a look of suppressed fury on his face. Goren noted with relief that neither of them seemed hurt, then tensed himself for action, as the second of Eames' and Davenport's captors came into view.

It happened fast, so fast that he had no time to think any more, as, from across the room, he heard the hiss of Doyle's silenced gun, and the man holding a gun on Davenport and Eames's backs fell wordlessly to the ground. Doyle fired again, and so did he, and more men fell, including the second man holding a gun on Davenport and Eames, who had both flung themselves instantly to the ground and begun squirming towards their erstwhile captors, determination and fear on their faces.

They'd achieved their first goal, but the element of surprise was lost, and now the men were returning fire. Goren and Doyle ducked as bullets whined over their heads, hearing as they did a loud yell. Goren peered swiftly around the edge of the door and ducked back again to avoid being shot, but saw in that brief second that Eames had armed herself with one of the fallen men's guns, and shot one of her captors in the leg. She fired again and again, and suddenly their captors were running, running away from her and back around the edge of the warehouse. She gained her feet and looked around wildly. He risked a shout, "Over here!"

The look of relief on her face when she heard his voice made everything worthwhile. She ran fast towards the door, throwing herself through it. He wrapped an arm round her and they hugged briefly and fiercely.

"Bobby, thank God," she managed to say, before Doyle interrupted.

"Touching reunion time comes later! Get yourselves in gear, there's five of the fuckers left still."

"Make that four." Davenport's voice came from the door. He was on his feet with a gun in his hand, breathing heavily and grinning like Doyle, eyes glittering fiercely. "Is now the time, Mr Doyle?"

"Now's the time, Mr Davenport, you bastard," Doyle replied. "You two, stay here and leave this bit to the professionals." He winked at Goren and Eames and disappeared into the depths of the warehouse. Davenport grinned at them, and took to his heels, sprinting fast out of the door and in pursuit of the running men. He was a fast runner, and soon rounded the corner of the warehouse and was lost to view. From around the corner, they heard gunfire, and more yells, and Goren pictured the scene in his mind, Davenport chasing them, firing on them to keep them running and panicky, so they wouldn't stop to think about what might lie ahead until they ran straight into Doyle's line of fire.

"Bobby, Bobby, Bobby," Eames muttered, and hugged him again. "I've never been so glad to see you."

"Me neither."

Eames disengaged from the hug and looked up at him with her "Detective Eames face" back on. "Is Sienna okay? Where's Amp?"

"Sienna's fine, they both are. They're waiting for us on a boat on the river, we'll soon be out of here."

"Oh, thank God." She looked briefly exhausted, then snapped out of it. "Bobby – we found something in the warehouse." She explained to him about the corpse, and about what Davenport thought it meant.

"If he's right, that means Durham's behind this," Goren replied. She nodded agreement. "I wonder if he was blackmailing Maldon? It might have nothing to do with the stadium investigation. Maybe Durham wasn't the only one working for the Barayev organisation. Sienna said Durham had money stashed away somewhere."

"He spent a year in solitary, Bobby. That's plenty of time to plan out something like this," Eames commented.

"Sienna was right," he replied. In response to Eames' glance, he explained, "She said that she didn't trust him, that she would only trust him when she actually saw the proof."

"Did she say that about Davenport, too?" Eames asked. "He's pretty pissed that no-one told him Durham escaped."

"Yes, she did." Goren had a sudden realisation that the journey back on the boat was going to be an interesting experience, since it would be the first time he, Sienna and Davenport had met in person since Sienna left London. He shrugged. So long as they were all alive, who cared? MI5 could sort out the mess when they got back.

Suddenly, several loud _pops_ sounded in the air, and they both listened closely. When the sounds had died down, they gingerly picked their way back through the warehouse in Doyle's direction, weapons drawn, senses on high alert, but there was no more danger. Not any more.

They regarded the scene in front of them with a mixture of relief and horror. Doyle and Davenport were methodically moving among the bodies of the man who, seconds before, had been trying to kill them, checking for pulses, signs of life. There appeared to be none. Doyle had shown no mercy. _And Davenport neither, _he reminded himself.

"That's that done." Doyle remarked. "Let's leave before any friends they had get here." He leapt to his feet and started back towards the river and the waiting boat.

"Wait." Beside him, Eames was counting. "There's one missing."

All three men tensed at her words. "You're sure?" Doyle murmured, raising his gun again.

"I'm sure."

Suddenly, there was a crack, and something behind them shattered. Goren winced as something stung his cheek, but he was already diving for the floor, as were the other three. Quick as a flash, Doyle returned fire in the general direction that the shot had come from.

The light was so poor, he was shooting on sound alone, but so was the other man. Suddenly, the gunfire ceased.

"That's it, that was his last shot," Doyle remarked and raised his gun again. Beside him, Davenport shook his head. "I want this one for questioning."

"You're sure?"

"We might as well get something out of this whole shitty situation," he replied, and began to belly-crawl towards their adversary. Suddenly, there was a frantic rustle, and the man leapt up and ran towards him, swinging something that glinted dully in the remaining light. Davenport rolled hastily to one side as the man swung what looked like a length of pipe at his head, then jumped to his feet and gave chase as the man ran straight past him, past Goren, who jumped to his feet as well and joined the chase.

The two of them, he and Davenport, pounded behind the fleeing dark shape as it headed towards the railway tracks in the distance. Davenport poured it on, outdistancing Goren, but the other man was running on adrenaline and was just managing to keep ahead.

Ahead of them, there came a loud rumble, and the sound of a freight train crossing on tracks. _That's it, he's cornered_, Goren thought, then watched as the man took in the situation, glanced behind him, saw the two of them in pursuit, and ran frantically towards the train. Goren thought for a second that he was planning to jump under it rather than let them catch him, but then he saw that the slowly trundling train was pulling a string of boxcars with open doors in their sides. The man jumped for the nearest door frantically, followed by Davenport, and then by himself before he knew what he was doing. He nearly slipped and fell, then grabbed frantically for the edge of the door, braced himself, and hauled himself on board.

A writhing shape on the floor in front of him resolved itself into Davenport grappling with his attacker. The two men were closely locked together, trying to disable each other. The man made a lunge with his teeth for Davenport's neck, who responded by squirming down and bringing his knee up, causing a _whoof_ of pain from the other man, who made a fast motion with his hand, and suddenly, Davenport yelled and let go. The man scrabbled to his feet and jumped for the edge of the car to escape…

…only to realise, far too late, that the train was travelling across the bridge over the river. They were forty feet up in the air. Goren tried to grab him reflexively, but it was already too late; his momentum carried him over the edge.

They heard a splash, a long way below, then silence.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck."

He turned to see Davenport lying still on his side, frozen on the floor of the boxcar. His breath was coming in short tight wheezes. _He's been hurt_, Goren realised, and felt around in his pockets for the flashlight Doyle had given him in the warehouse. He found it and trained it in Davenport's direction.

What he saw gave him chills. Davenport was frozen because he was, literally, pinned to the spot. There was a long thin spike of metal sticking up from the floor of the boxcar and through his left arm, and Goren could see the wet splash of blood on the floor below.

Davenport looked up and met Goren's eyes. His grey eyes were like those of a wounded fox, and there was no sound in the car except the rattle of the wheels and his pained breathing. Goren pawed his cheek, and realised that he was bleeding too.

They were stuck on the boxcar with no means of summoning help, and the train was already gathering speed, heading for somewhere unknown.

_Oh shit_.

**Author's Comment: A Short Note on the Interludes**

It was originally my intention that the "interludes" for this fic would be chapters of another story, "What Happened at Glastonbury", and that each story would weave in and out of each other, with the interludes providing some of the background to the events of "Betrayal's End".

I think that's still the case, but… the interludes do seem to be growing and growing. I'm really enjoying writing them, but I'm aware that, well, this is meant to be a Criminal Intent fanfiction, and it's getting away from that!

So the interludes won't be published here any more, but they _are_ published elsewhere online, and if you want to keep reading them, please do drop me a line and I'll be happy to let you know where.

Hope you're enjoying the fic!


	23. Mirror Image

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Davenport murmured slowly, contemplating his left arm. Goren kept the flashlight trained on it, and peered more closely.

It looked like a nail. A very long nail, that Davenport's adversary had snatched up from the floor of the boxcar. Flashing the light around quickly, he saw that there was all kinds of rubbish left lying around on the floor. The man must simply have grabbed up whatever he could from the floor and stabbed wildly, and it was Davenport's bad luck that it had been a nail, which wasn't going to be much consolation to him. It had gone all the way through the sweater he was wearing, through his arm, and into the floor.

Goren took a few seconds to ensure that they were on their own in the boxcar, no more nasty surprises, before turning his attention back to Davenport, who was still contemplating his left hand with a sort of horrified fascination. As Goren watched, he flexed his fingers carefully. One, two, three, four, five… he did it again and again, and Goren realised that it was probably a physiotherapy exercise he'd had to do whilst recovering. _So, no nerve damage_, he thought, and scooted closer to take a look. Davenport glared at him, nearly snarling.

"I won't touch your arm," he reassured the other man. "Let me take a look at the blood, see if it hit anything major."

"Okay, but if you touch my arm I'll fucking kill you. Nothing personal."

He grunted and carefully dipped his fingers into the blood. It was difficult to tell, but it didn't feel thick.

"Doesn't feel thick – I don't think it hit an artery."

"Thank God for that. Fuck." The other man sighed. "I wish I hadn't given Eames my coat."

_v__When did you get to call her Eames?_ "Why?"

"It's stab-proof, and has my medical supplies in." He took a deep breath, then began trying to carefully reach his right foot without moving his left arm; not easy with his right arm pinned under him. The boxcar went over a set of points, jolting them and causing a fresh rill of blood to seep out onto the floor, accompanied by a wince of pain from Davenport.

"What do you need?" Goren asked.

"My knife. In my right boot."

"Let me get it." He carefully reached across the other man, slid his fingers inside the boot and encountered something round and solid. He gripped it carefully, and drew out a small, vicious-looking knife which he recognised as a spider knife; a short, wide blade designed to be carried concealed. Davenport opened his right hand to receive it.

"This is stupid. You aren't going to be able to use this without hurting yourself," Goren pointed out. Because of the way Davenport's attacker had stabbed him, he was lying on the floor curled on his right side, with his left arm over the top of his body and his left forearm pinned to the floor with the nail. His upper right arm was pinned under his body, limiting the movement of his free hand.

"Oh, I'm supposed to trust you?"

"Let me cut away the sweater – that's what you were going to do? - and we'll see what the situation is."

"Fine," Davenport grunted. Goren dropped to his knees behind the man, and shuffled closer, bracing Davenport's back against his knees to hold him in place. Davenport got the idea, and moved his upper leg out, bracing it against the wall of the boxcar. Goren leaned over him, lifted the woollen fabric of the sleeve with his right hand, and hooked the cutting edge of the blade underneath it. The edge was viciously sharp and cut through the fabric with ease. He carefully cut around the nail, and peeled back the sleeve to expose the wound.

The nail had gone through the skin on the top of Davenport's arm, meaning that his arm was pinned by the nail with the outer edge of his hand at a right angle to the floor. It had probably hit the bone and scraped down it into the wooden slats from the force of the blow. Goren realised that Davenport had been relatively lucky in that the nail had not gone through the underside of the arm, where it might have damaged nerves and muscle, but it was still going to hurt like hell when they tried to remove it.

"I'm going to check it's not broken," Goren explained, and ran his fingers along the bone. He could feel no lumps or sharp edges.

"It's not. Trust me, I know what that feels like," Davenport grimaced, and Goren's sharp eyes followed his gaze to the white lines of scar tissue across his left arm that traced where they'd had to operate on him earlier in the summer. He realised that a lot of the other man's belligerence was not pain, but fear, and felt a little compassion.

"Right then, let's get it out." Davenport took a deep breath. Goren thought about this for a second, but agreed with him. They had no idea where they were going, or what they would face when they got there. Having Davenport pinned to the floor unable to move was a worse option than removing the nail and bandaging the wound.

He reached across and took hold of the top of the nail. Davenport closed his eyes. "Just do it, don't bother to do the whole count to ten and… OUCH! FUCKING HELL!" He rocked backwards and forwards slightly, clutching his arm and hissing slightly through his teeth. Goren threw the nail out of the open door, then turned his attention back to Davenport, who was grimly hauling himself up into a sitting position against the wall of the boxcar, his left arm propped across the top of his knees.

"Thanks. I can take it from here," Davenport grunted, and held out his hand for his knife. He pulled up the top of his sweater and began cutting a strip off the black T-shirt he was wearing underneath. Goren caught a flash of pale flesh beneath, then Davenport pulled his sweater back down, shivering, and began to wrap the strip around his arm.

"Don't bother to say thank you," Goren remarked, propping himself against the other wall and feeling the cut on his own face. He must have been hit by a splinter of wood or something like it when the man they'd been chasing fired at them. It wasn't painful enough to be a bullet graze, and the blood was starting to clot already.

Davenport looked at him, grinned sarcastically, and kept on bandaging his arm. "I won't, don't worry. Did you enjoy that?"

"I'm sorry?"

Davenport finished strapping up the wound and looked across at him. "Well, you must _really_ hate my guts, right?"

"Stop trying to needle me. It won't work."

Davenport snorted. "If I wanted to needle you, Goren, I'd go with something like "Did you know, your girlfriend and I once fu-"" The rattle as the train passed over the tracks cut off the rest of his words.

Goren met his angry glare with one of his own. "Don't talk about Sienna like that. You don't have the right, and all you've ever done is fuck up her life."

"Oh, _I_ fucked up her life? That's rich, coming from you. Do you know, when she got here, all she ever talked about was Bobby-this, Bobby-that? Tanni and Jack and I got to the point where we were sick of hearing about you. You fucked her head up pretty badly, Goren, but it's easier to put it all on me, isn't it?"

"She would never have left New York if-"

"She would never have left New York if _you'd ever given her a reason to stay_." Davenport actually leaned forward. "How the fuck could you do that? I'm serious, explain it to me. I mean, when someone I loved needed me, I dropped everything I was doing and raced to the other side of the world to rescue them. I didn't give a shit about my job, about anything, I just wanted Mike safe. You couldn't be bothered even to go to the airport to wave her goodbye! Do you want to guess how many times she cried on my shoulder about that?"

Goren winced and closed his eyes. The words came out slowly. "I thought I was doing what Sienna wanted. I thought that she wanted to go to London because it was the best thing for her. I didn't want to make that harder for her, and I was worried that if I went to the airport, I'd…"

He shook his head, unable to believe he was saying this to _Davenport_, of all people. "Why the fuck am I telling you this? That was your fault!"

Davenport actually laughed, a bitter, hard-edged laugh that made Goren have to resist the urge to slug him hard in the face. "Oh, you're pissed off with me! Or _is_ it me?"

He cocked his head on one side. "Maybe it's Sienna you're pissed off with? I mean, you can't think this, 'cause, you know, you're the good guy, the better man… but she lowered herself to sleep with me. That Catholic judgemental part of you really doesn't like the fact your girlfriend fucked someone else and liked it, but hey, easier to take it out on me than her, hmm? Oh yeah, there's the truth!" He laughed nastily at Goren's expression. "Not so much fun when someone does that to you, is it?"

Goren forced his face into a smile, or at least a grin. "_Lowered herself_? That cocky bastard act of yours really is just an act, isn't it? You think you're the lowest of the low, so you prance about pretending to be James Bond, so no-one sees the real you." He laughed. "It's funny, you know? You act like you're invincible, but behind it, there's a scared little boy."

Davenport's lips curled back, and for a few seconds Goren thought they really might come to blows. "And you'd know all about that. Pot, meet kettle! I may put on a fucking act, Goren, but _it works_. People are alive because of me and because I have the nerve to do what I do, and Sienna knows that, and you just can't face up to the fact that she might actually-"

"Don't you _fucking_ say her name! You don't have the right! You found everything about her she doubted, and played on that to get her to come to London, so you could use her as bait! You let her fall for John Durham, and you knew all along that he was corrupt! Did you enjoy watching that, you sick bastard? Did you enjoy watching her fall for someone, knowing that you had the power to wreck her life any time you felt like it?"

Davenport looked at Goren and made eye contact. "You're welcome not to believe me, but I did intend to tell her when she got here. Ask her first, if she was willing to go along with what we planned. But then she and Durham met and she couldn't keep her eyes off him-"

"And that lets you off?"

"No. But I had to catch Durham, Goren. _Had to._ The way I see it, the police and the security services are society's immune system. When a cop goes bad, that makes them AIDS in human form." He grinned briefly. "I'm the cure. So, yeah…" He met Goren's gaze again. "I didn't like lying to Sienna, but I've done worse. If I'd told her the truth straightaway, I had no way of telling how she'd react."

"So you left it. You left it until she was invested in the relationship, until you knew she'd feel stupid and young and inexperienced and like an idiot for falling for him, before you told her the truth, because you knew that that was how you'd get her to turn on Durham and work for you."

Davenport nodded. "That's about the size of it. My, you worked that out quickly, didn't you? We're not really that different, are we, Goren? I'll bet you've done something just the same, what was the name of that woman in the hotel? Janie? Julie? Oh, but it's different when I do it, because I'm a bastard, right?" His smile got wider. "We both are, because let's face it, Sienna _likes_ fucked-up bastards."

"You talk about her like she's garbage. What did she ever see in you?"

"Maybe what she saw, Goren, is that I don't have a problem with her being an actual human being." He shook his head. "I don't care that she has flaws; no-one's got as many as me. Fuck, most people would consider getting involved with _me_ to be a sign of having something wrong with you. Maybe what she saw in me, Goren, is that I let her grow as a person. You wanted her to be on a pedestal, and she tried her best to be your perfect girlfriend, but she felt stupid next to you. Stupid and young."

They fell silent.

"Am I wrong?" Davenport's voice was surprisingly soft.

"None of this lets you off the hook."

"No. It doesn't. I thought I was doing what she wanted when I didn't tell her-"

"That's not an excuse. Do you know what she's been telling me? That she used to think that the time she spent in London with you and Tanya and Jack was one of the best times of her life, but now every time she thinks about it, the memories are spoiled because it's built on a lie. You did that to her."

"Yeah." Davenport sighed, dropping his head. "There's nothing I can do about that. I am sorry, if that helps."

"But not so sorry you wish you hadn't done it."

Davenport looked up and smiled, then shook his head slowly. "Would you be, Goren? In my place? You like to catch the nasty fuckers as much as I do, be honest."

"I've never sacrificed someone I loved to do it."

"Maybe not. Does it make a difference, though, if it's someone you know? Does not being involved with the victim get you off the hook? Maybe we're all just a few bad days away from drilling holes in someone's skull and pouring scalding hot water onto their brain…"

"I have compassion."

"Yeah. _After_ you've caught them." Davenport snorted, a sharp exhalation through his nostrils. "And now, SiSi's the same as me."

"Don't say that about her."

"I don't want to, believe me." A corner of his mouth quirked up bitterly. "But I didn't get one call from her, not one effort at warning me about all this. She didn't give me a chance, either."

They stared at each other. Davenport heaved a huge sigh and shook his head. "Why are we even bothering to have this conversation? It's over, she chose you. Enjoy."

"You have Mike."

"I _had_ Mike. Now, I have my job. Or I'd like to think I have my job, since MI5 just hung me out to dry."

"I'm sorry about that."

"Thanks. It's no fucking use to me… but thanks anyway." Suddenly, he broke off, and his head flicked up. Goren was about to ask, when he murmured softly, "Did you hear that?"

"No… wait." He strained his senses to pick up the sound. It was almost impossible to do so over the rattle of the train's wheels, but he could just about hear a faint sound.

It might have been nothing. It might have been someone creeping closer on the roof of the car… had there been someone else they'd missed? Had Eames counted wrongly in the heat of the moment? Goren thought frantically, feeling his heart start to race.

"Perhaps." He shook his head in frustration. "I don't know…"

"Me neither. How long do you think we've been on this train?"

Goren shook his head: "Maybe half an hour?"

"And we don't know where we're going, or where we are now."

"But we do know that Durham planned this, so he probably knows the route these trains travel on…"

They looked at each other as Davenport completed the thought: "I don't think we want to be on this train when it gets to where it's going. Next time it slows down, we're getting off."

They both crouched forwards, peering out of the open door. They had been largely in darkness except for the light from the flashlight, but every so often there was a flash of light from outside, a distant road or set of buildings. Goren risked peering ahead slightly, and saw a clump of buildings coming up on either side of the track. He signalled to Davenport, who peered forward himself, and nodded.

They took up positions on either side of the door. The train slowed a little, then a little more, and Goren realised this was probably their best chance to jump off and not risk breaking a leg.

"Now?"

"One minute," Davenport breathed, "Okay, now!" He jumped out, landing on his feet and rolling forwards to lose his momentum safely before landing back on his feet. Goren followed him, jumping more clumsily but landing safely. The train rattled on behind them, a seemingly-endless stream of carriages heading out into the distance.

They looked around. They were in what looked like a freight yard. It was nearly pitch black, but there were one or two security lights left on, providing a dim glow. He listened carefully, but could hear no signs of life… but then, the rattle of the train would probably drown them out.

"Where are we?" he muttered to Davenport, hoping the other man might know the local geography better than he.

"How the hell should I know?" Davenport snarled back softly, with a shrug. "Somewhere without anyone trying to shoot us; will that do?" He frowned tiredly, apparently hearing the snappy tone in his own voice as clearly as Goren could. His face was paler than usual, and Goren involuntarily glanced at the wrappings over his arm, but could see no gleam of fresh blood. _It's a good sign that he's still walking around_, he thought, but found it little comfort. Even though Davenport probably wouldn't lose enough blood to pass out from that directly, it would still be weakening him, particularly combined with the pain from his injury.

Suddenly, he remembered. As he peered around, looking for an exit, he muttered: "Quick fox". He had no way of knowing if it would work, but maybe it would, and he kicked himself mentally for not having thought of that before.

Suddenly, he heard a what sounded like a soft thud from behind them, as if someone had just jumped down from the train.

"Shit!" He and Davenport jumped apart and instinctively took up positions on either side of a nearby crate.

Suddenly, a familiar voice sounded. "Well, this is an interesting situation, Mr Davenport."

He straightened up, as did Davenport, who chuckled softly. "That it is, Mr Doyle."

Doyle smiled and stepped almost daintily into the light. He grinned cheerfully. "I'd say this cancels out my debt to you for good, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, I would say that it does." Davenport sighed with relief, and smiled, the first genuine smile Goren had seen from him. "I'll make the phone call when we get back to civilisation."

"Thank you, now, that'll be much appreciated." Doyle smiled. The three men began to walk towards the door. "You could have let us know you were on the train – where were you? In the truck behind?" Davenport asked. Goren listened with half an ear. He was sure he'd heard something behind them, something that sounded like footsteps, but that couldn't be right, he was only half-sure he'd heard it…

"Aye. I could have done that, but then we'd have had three of us in the same place, whereas this way, if there had been anyone else on that train with you, they'd have seen you and not me. It's easier to shoot the bastards when they aren't expecting it. Your arm bothering you?"

This latter was addressed to Davenport, who was running his fingertips along the wrappings with a strained expression. He shook his head irritably. "No, I'm just very fucking tired of being used as bait. Now, any idea how the hell we get out of here?"

Doyle shrugged. "No, I've not a clue where we are, but I daresay…"

The gunshot was shockingly loud in the confined space, and suddenly Doyle's face was distorting, swelling, for half a second, and then it exploded, showering them both in… remnants. Davenport yelped with surprise, jumping backwards and clawing frantically at his face, trying to wipe off blood and other things.

Goren, further away, looked around frantically, and then felt his heart racing horribly, the blood draining from his face as, behind Doyle's collapsing form, the shooter stepped out from behind a packing crate with a horribly cheerful, friendly smile.

"Wrong turn!" John Durham smiled, and chuckled softly, and Bobby felt the fear building in his gut blossom queasily into full-on despair.


	24. Endgame

Chapter Eighteen – "Endgame"

_Oh dear God._

He dropped to his knees, seeing Davenport do the same. Suddenly, something hit him hard in the chest, and the world went white and painful. _Taser_, he realised distantly through the pain as his body convulsed.

"Well, isn't this nice!" Durham chuckled softly. "Here you are like two little ducks in a row." He padded over to them, keeping his eyes on Davenport, who was staring at him with a look of concentrated hatred.

He chuckled again. "This worked out just fine." He smiled, and held out a pair of handcuffs. "Stick your fucking hands out, you little fag. Or I'll just shock him until you do – like this," he pressed a button again, and Goren's world went agonising white. He could feel his heart hammering as his body tried to handle the massive shock to the system.

"Oh wait, that doesn't bother you, does it? Here's something that will," and Durham clipped the taser to his belt and drew his gun. "Hold out your wrists, or I'll shoot you in the feet, then the knees, then your elbows, then your hands, then your balls, then I'll just keep on shooting. There's no-one round here to hear you scream."

Davenport's glare didn't waver as, stonily, he held out his wrists. He had no other option, Goren realised as he shakily gathered his thoughts. At least this way he would be relatively unharmed – they could maybe hope for rescue… Durham clipped the handcuffs on, then, almost lovingly, unwrapped the bandages from Davenport's injured left arm. He smiled at the blood. "Does that hurt? How about now?" He drew a knife from his back pocket, and inserted the tip into the first of the two holes in Davenport's arm, then dragged it through the skin to the other. Reaching to the ground, he picked up some grit from the floor and rubbed it into the wound. Blood poured out of the cut as he placed his hand over the wound and squeezed it hard. Davenport's breath came fast and hard, but he didn't cry out, a slight whimper coming from his throat.

"You might as well scream," Durham advised him genially. "You're going to be screaming soon."

Davenport spat at him. "Fuck you, you're nothing." His voice cut off into a whimper as Durham stuck the knife into his cut again, and Goren heard it grate on the bone.

"Take out the chip."

_Huh? _Goren looked at Durham, frantically trying to keep his face still.

"He has a chip in his neck, they all do," Durham explained. Goren looked dumbly at him. "You're going to take it out for me." He dropped his knife onto the floor and kicked it across, picking the Taser off his belt as he did so. "Don't start getting stupid ideas. I can shock you before you even try to cut the wires."

"Why me?" Goren stalled frantically.

"Oh, it's just the start." Durham smiled happily. "Get started, you're going to be cutting him a lot more. Little present for Sienna from me. It'll be fun for her when they find your corpse, don't you think? They'll figure it out, the two of you trapped together, you with the man who used your girlfriend as bait, things turned nasty, the two of you fought, he killed you and escaped. Except he didn't, but that's not something you'll be worrying about by then."

Behind Durham, Davenport's eyes went very wide and his skin, if possible, went greyer. _He's terrified… Oh shit, I know why. He lied all along, no doubt about it, and Davenport was right: he was on the take. _

"He's your payment, isn't he?" Goren said slowly. "Your payment to the Barayev gang… They agreed to help you in return for you giving them him."

"Oh yes," Durham adopted an expression of mock-regret and shook his head, almost gently stroking Davenport's cheek with the flat of the knife. "I'm sorry, it was the only way, my life or yours…"

He laughed sharply, and turned the knife, flicking it along Davenport's cheek and within a hair's-breadth of his eye, blood flowing over the blade. "Actually, I'm not fucking sorry at all. You're worth a fucking fortune, and the only thing I'm sorry about is that I don't get to see MI5's faces when they realise one of their precious agents is in the hands of the Redbacks and spilling his guts to anyone with a battery and a couple of jump leads. Still, we've got a couple of hours to kill before my ride gets here, so let's have some fun!"

He laughed, and Goren had a sudden realisation that he was insane, but the thought did not cheer him. It was perfectly possible to be insane and capable of planning, and Durham seemed to have planned everything. _But he doesn't realise I've got a chip. He's focussed on Davenport. I need to keep it that way._

"You want me to cut him?" Davenport's eyes were wide at the thoughtful tone in Goren's voice.

"Oh yes." Durham tipped his head on one side. "Look at it this way. You'll still be dead, but at least you get the nice easy death, unlike him. I'll even make it quick for you if you do a good job on him. I mean, you'll still lose your reputation, sorry about that, but well, you've already had a reputation for being a bit unstable, Goren, haven't you? Oh yes, I did my research on you. Well, I listened to Sienna whining about you for months, my God, it was fucking boring. But it was useful."

He shook his head in mock sadness. "They'll just think, all the pressure you were under… brilliant but unstable detective finally snaps and takes it out on the man who got his girlfriend shot, he killed you in self-defence and went on the run. I don't think you'll get too many flowers on your grave, but at least you'll die knowing you got to settle the score, right? _Now cut the fucking chip out of his neck_, or it's twice the voltage."

Goren approached Davenport slowly, trying desperately to delay.

"Get on with it," Durham smiled, and fingered the Taser meaningfully.

Goren pretended not to know where it was. "Where… uh…" he pointed the knife randomly at Davenport's neck.

"Tell him," Durham instructed Davenport.

He looked into Goren's eyes, and Goren tried wordlessly to convey, _I'm sorry_. He couldn't tell if the message got through. "It's in the side of my neck, on the left side, on the muscle behind the jaw," Davenport gritted out. His blood was still running down his hand.

"That's right. It's linked in to the main auditory nerve, so you might want to try to get it out neatly, or he'll be deaf in one ear for the rest of his life. Then again, that won't be too long," Durham commented.

With deep reluctance, he felt around on Davenport's neck until he felt the tell-tale lump under his fingertips, knew he had found it when Davenport winced. _I'm sorry_, he thought again, and dug the point of the knife into his neck, feeling rather than seeing Davenport's face screw up in pain and Durham's look of gleeful enjoyment. He made a long incision along the side of the chip, then dug the knife in and tried to slice cleanly underneath the chip, aiming to cut any connections it had to the tissue on the inside. Swallowed whimpers came from Davenport's throat as he placed his finger on the other side of the cut and pushed, getting the chip out like a pea from a pod.

"Put it on the floor and stamp on it," Durham instructed him. He did as he was told. Davenport flicked his head a little, but Goren had no way of telling if he had achieved his goal and got the chip out without damaging the other man's hearing.

"There, see, wasn't that fun?" Durham asked cheerfully. "I enjoyed it, didn't you?" He smiled. "Tell you what, I'll even let you choose which bit of him you cut first. I know what I'd go for, fucking queer, you'd be doing the world a favour… but you can go for his eyes first, if you like. Up to you. Get on with it."

Davenport looked at him with pleading eyes. "I'm sorry," he said… then dropped the knife.

"I'm not doing it." He turned and faced Durham, feeling the two taser darts tug at the flesh of his chest as he did so. They were barbed, had to be in order to stay in the flesh of someone having convulsions, and there was no way he could get them out quickly. The next few minutes would hurt.

"Do you know what it's like to be shocked continuously for two minutes? You've had ten seconds." Durham bared his teeth. "Here, let me give you an idea." He thumbed the Taser controls, and Goren collapsed, writhing in agony. It was like the worst cramp he'd ever had, multiplied by a thousand.

"That was twenty seconds. Do you want another?" He snarled. "I can cut him myself, but if I do it, I'll shock you for every cut I make, and I'm going to make a _lot_."

Goren spat at him. "You're scum."

"Fine, thirty seconds it is…"

"No it fucking isn't."

A voice came from behind him. A very familiar voice.

"John, put down your gun, put down the Taser, and step away from that knife, or I swear by God I'll shoot you."

Sienna Tovitz came out of the darkness. She was wearing a bullet-proof vest and helmet, and a Sig Sauer was held securely in both her hands, pointing at Durham's head.

Durham actually laughed. "Oh, this is just perfect!"

"I mean it. I really fucking mean it, John! Put them down!"

He laughed again. "If you meant it, you'd have shot me whilst I was shocking him." Goren noticed though, that his hands had gone white on the grip of his taser, and he hadn't made a move to grasp his gun. He was apparently sufficiently in control of himself not to risk startling Sienna and having her shoot him by reflex – though Goren wished he would. _Shoot him, Sienna_, he thought desperately. _I know you hate this, but you have to._

"If you were going to shoot me, sweetheart, you'd have done it when I was tasering your boyfriend. Well, I say _boy_friend, you've got a taste for old meat, haven't you?"

He laughed nastily and addressed Goren. "Funny, isn't it? We could swap notes on her, couldn't we? Did you find out that when you suck her tits and stick your hand up her like this-" he made an obscene gesture with his fingers "-she squeals like a little piggy?" He grinned at Sienna. "I can keep talking, you know. Did you ever stick your tongue into his-"

Sienna cut him off with a derisive laugh. "I don't care, John, you can talk all night, I don't give a fuck! They both know anyway!"

"Both?" Durham's eyes opened wide. "You fucked-"

He didn't complete his sentence. There was a sound like a steak being slapped onto a butcher's counter, and suddenly he was collapsing sideways onto the floor. Blood suddenly poured across the floor, and Durham clutched at his guts, writhing on the floor. He'd let go of the taser controls as he fell, but, driven by adrenaline and desperation, he began to squirm his way back towards them and towards the knife _and he still had his gun in the holster_.

Goren didn't let himself think about what he was going to do, but threw himself forward, put his arm across the taser wires, gripped them and pulled. He felt the barbs tear through the flesh of his chest and the blood run freely, and the pain was sickening, but they were out. He flung them to one side, then threw himself at Durham, dimly registering as he did so that there were others in the room. The two of them grappled frantically on the floor, Goren gripping the other man's arms in a bear hug to try to stop him grabbing his gun.

Durham was younger and stronger than he, and fighting for his life. He swung his head back, trying to break Goren's nose, and missed, but the impact caught him in the left eye and he roared with pain, but didn't let go, even as Durham tried to bite his throat, his teeth bared like an animal… Suddenly the other man's head was yanked back. Goren looked up to see that Davenport had joined him. His hands were still cuffed together, but that didn't prevent him from using his arms. He had hooked one arm around Durham's neck, and was hanging on for grim life, even as Durham frantically kicked out wildly, landing a rain of blows on them both.

It took a while, or perhaps it only seemed to, and Goren wondered if Davenport had actually managed to get the chokehold on properly, but then he felt Durham start to go limp, either from loss of blood or loss of air, and he held on with the last of his abused body's strength. The three of them grappled frantically for a few seconds more… then it was over, and Durham's body was limp in between them.

He was aware of dark figures on either side of him, who suddenly resolved themselves into armed police officers. They peeled him and Davenport off Durham's limp form, and cursed at the blood. He saw them strip Durham's weapons from him, then start frantically packing the gut wound, and at the back of his mind, he laughed darkly at the frantic efforts they were making to save Durham's life, but the room was starting to go dark and he had no strength left, so he simply collapsed onto the floor and breathed, panting furiously.

Out of the corner of his eye, somewhere at the back of the room, he saw a flash of long blond hair, and recognised Amelia Jenkins. _Five must have tracked us through my chip_, he thought muzzily, as the adrenaline drained out of his system. _Sienna must have called Jenkins from the boat... She must have volunteered to go in and distract Durham so that they could get a sniper in place to take the shot… _

Suddenly, there was warmth, and a pair of arms holding him. "Bobby, Bobby, thank God. Thank God you're alright."

"Ms Tovitz, he needs medical attention," one of the armed officers said, beckoning to some of his colleagues at the back of the room. She ignored him, hugging him more tightly. "I'm here, Bobby, I'm here."

He used the last of his strength to wrap his arms around her, and as he did so he peered over her back and saw that Davenport, too, had a couple of officers attending his injuries.

He was ignoring them and watching Sienna and Bobby with a thoughtful look on his face. Goren saw several things in it – happiness? acceptance? regret? He wasn't sure.

Before he knew he was doing it, he made eye contact with Davenport over Sienna's back. They smiled at each other, just a little.

He mouthed _Thank you_, and Davenport mouthed it back, and that was the last thing he saw before he allowed himself to be carried off into a waiting ambulance.

Sienna was by his side all the way. His beloved Sienna was there for him, and he would never need to let her go.

"I love you, Bobby," she kept repeating, over and over.

"I love you, too. My beautiful Sienna".


End file.
